The Known Stranger Poem by Writer Diaries

Known stranger poet noticed and looked in his eyes
Hunger can easily be seen with poverty cries
Strangely he looked with rat eyes and searched
Probably looking for food which he never got much
He got always what golden rings have rejected with pride
Pride had gone long ago with food with increasing money cries
Why man was looking familiar, he was a bit puzzled
Whether to look him like a stranger or to notice his feet which shivers and hustled
When he leaned to ask for some food he again hustled
Repeating what his father said about beggars about their deeds of selling again set him puzzled
Strangely he withdraw when a stroke came from side
It was a policeman who thought he would harm
Strange to think about a man whose wounds will never get time
Poet thinks it was not policeman, who was wrong
Wrong are the eyes of society who can see only those whose positions are strong
You could also feel his pain, when he tries to prevent that blow
May be his hands would have prevented them if they weren’t “POVERTICALLY “roped
One blanket was left, which now no longer left from color of blood
May be this was his fate or posh society fame that didn’t see this wrong
With dusted joined hands he might have prayed to policeman to show him some kindness that might have left
Easy to say for a filled belly that the hungry man was trying to make a theft
Poet thinks that man knew what was coming, so he prayed before it’s too late
Late was his prayer as another blow hits at right at his wrinkled face
Agony and pain the man was feeling can’t be described
Poet thinks that late reflexes of his had cost him this price
Softly he wept, softly he moved, softly he said that poet can only presume
Might he have said something to god or to his fate?
But the God was not even late
A man came with an objective to help this shivering body who surprisingly has some soul left
That man was the same Policeman that no longer accused him for theft
He came with a piece of bread that now I think his humanity didn’t let him forget
So that strangely familiar man is now have a life to pass with a moment with humanity
So his eyes could still sparkle in rest of his odd days of solidarity
That immense suffering was whose fault
Whether it was of policeman or the beggar whose life always mock
Poet thinks where he was when he had his first strike
May be he was looking for his “HUMANITY” that no longer survive