Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet


I shriek at high pitched tones in discordance, 


mumbling words unnaturally formed, 


 


stretching minute chords of my vocal tract, 


i was a sight to stare on the bustling street, 


irregular hair mass pivoting from my scalp, 


thick outgrowths of beard stubs sprawled across face, 


a breeding place for minuscule street insects, 


feeding in comfort, on unwashed dirt, 


adorned in threadbare sac, reaching my ankle, 


i felt like an official prince of the poor, 


being mentally traumatized since i was born, 


brutally whipped at all quarters of life, 


utterly bereft of a shoulder to droop upon, 


looked upon in contempt by all passing me, 


a large slate of wood to perch on all day, 


cold stone pillows the armory for sleep, 


a meager consumption of hard bread and contaminated water, 


i spent all my life by the fountain side, 


with droplets of misery showered in plenty, 


an empty begging container my proudest possession, 


dangling from my skeleton shoulders, 


i have to make an early exit friends, 


there seems to be a traffic jam, luxury cars seem to be the majority, 


where in lies the crux of my begging activity

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A Day In The Life Of A Beggar

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