Dispelling all qualms, stood he, asking for alms
Arms spread out wide, in front of
a cozying couple, in a tight little squeeze,
Hoping to squeeze out, a rupee or two, maybe five.
With folded hands, there he stands
looking at stones; where his boss' eyes
should have been, motionless, emotionless
An increment, a hike, an affordability for his new bike, he begged.
With head bent, and heart rent, he stood,
tears welling down his eyes; a prayer set
on his quivering lips, to a God set in stone
A good boy for his only daughter, he begged.
At them we may sneer, jeer
With taunts, insults and barbs; and yet they are
a mirror, a reflection, an image of
our deepest, darkest self, we all are afraid of.
-Shivam'da
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