The Letter Of A Beggar Poem by Maria Mitea

My Dear,

How do you want me to write you?
- in the fire, on the edge of a knife,
or rolling in penguin feathers,

Do you remember those times?
- writing me with the big bird feathers,

Do not mind me,
I have enough crazy thoughts today,
an idea came to my mind,
- to learn all the tricks in the art of beggary,
Do you think it would make a difference?

Could I be the best beggar in all world,
it would be enough for me to have your mercy,
squatting all hungry in cold, freezing weather,
thirsty and sick laying down on the street corner,
hunched like the Hunchback of Notre-Dame,
or if I cut off my hands, my feet, pulling out my eyes,
if I couldn't, - If I could not,
does that mean I can't have you,

Don't pay any attention to what I say,
plus, I messed up the days,
I thought it was Friday
and maybe if I learn this art I'm talking about
your heart lets you visit me tonight,
so we can touch with our eyes, with our lips…

- better ignore me as the last beggar in the world,
ignore me as a gentleman who knows what he wants from life, and knows how to easily handle a cane and a hat in front of a street mendicant,

And yet,
I think if you were a beautiful young girl and I would be the miserable beggar,
would I succeed in winning her heart,
kiss her lips with the flattery of humility,
touch her nipples with my hands trembling from the disease of begging,
crawling at her feet and kiss them with the passion of a blind cadger,

If God came to test my talent and I would pass,
Would you receive it? - would you accept everything that was left in me,
and I, approved by the one above, to be happy with what is left in you,

Would it make a difference? - would it,