Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet

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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