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In the grey fogs of the cities -
Like mushrooms in the moist,
There grow beggars in the corners,
"Just a penny, sir!" - voiced.

You may find them in any genre;
Old men next to a jar,
Sad blokes without roof nor goods,
Lads playing a guitar.

All they want is only a coin-
Giving them needs morals;
Only God knows, you may be there,
Begging with them for alms.


Every time, I bypass by one,
My throat knots in a ball;
I feel an urge to seek coppers,
Always giving them all.

However, once it happened that-
I ran out of changes,
When an old gypsy woman was
Looking for my wages.

She blocked the entry of the shop:
"A coin, may God bless you!";
I excused: Now, I'm short of posh
While trying to get through.


She grabbed my arm and hugged my waist:
"My dear, my kids need food!"
Get out of my way, you witch! - thought,
"Witch?! You'll pay for b'ing rude!"

I was shocked: What, she read my mind?!
She spat between my eyes,
Hugged me harder than a python-
While murmuring weird rhymes.

"Pale face - hard heart, now you will pay,
Pale heart - hard face, you'll own!"
I fear'd if there were watching crowds,
But none, I've seen none, none.


The witch's gone as if never been,
Leaving my eyes in pain;
Taking my sight away, to say:
Oh my God! Am I sane?!

No doctor could cure my blindness:
"Nah, you must pretend it."
Then, a charlatan informed me:
"You're cursed, I'm sure of it".

Knowing being cursed let me sick;
"You'll need her to be cleansed",
But how to find her in Paris?
Been blinded and uneased.


I digged through the darkest quarters,
Meeting gypsy kings and hags;
Though, they were all laughing at me:
"A witch-beldam who begs?!"

My dispair led me to the shop:
Maybe, I'll find her here;
Time has strained my face and my heart,
Begging there year to year.

"All I want is only a coin-
Giving me needs morals;
Only God knows, you may be here,
Begging with me for alms."
Published in Constantine the Bridge Poem Collection.

Written in 2017, Oktober 11, Algeria.
I would rather be poor on Earth and rich in heavens of divine,
like the beggars on the streets,
I hide my spirit in the realms of time,
far away from the evil eye of the world.
Shea Nov 2018
My mind is filled with scraps of poetry
The words he owes to me
I will never get back
The fact I failed to submit
Shows I'm only bones
And the range of the water
I have been given
Has out lived the living
But the waves of the yesterdays
Like blue days of a dream
The scheme of things have played out
My food for thought
Was laid out
On the couch where we said
Monsters hide at night in bed
And tell you to give up the dream
Of winning faith and dying clean
And if the thing of things must be
The living clean
The way I live
Or never have lived
Could not hold up the way of the shiv
And if the living hope to live
Or love or all
Then washing over once was dry
Will flood the eyes of beggars choicey
AditiBoo Sep 2018
They took away his things

All his possessions, his belongings...

The roof above his head,

The duvet on his bed..

Even the rotten food in his bin.

They wanted to leave him - skeleton without a skin

They hung him out to dry

Beat him up until he could not longer cry

Dead man hanging

Soon, vultures will come prying

It's dead in the alleyway

At least until the rats come out to play

Riches to rags, is such a clichee

He a 'beggee' having turned into a beggar

Change used to go from his wallet to another's cup

Now from strangers' hands into his pocket they drop

A tip for the waitress at the nearby diner

Now enough for today's and tomorrow's dinner

There's an auction up in heaven

'A smile for the skeleton?'

'A smile for the skeleton?', they say

Angels, gods and saints...they all look away

As down on the forsaken street

The skeleton, oblivious, rubs his feet.
When the current government took over in Mauritius, they had a bone (<-- get it! the poem's called 'skeleton') to pick with the previous Prime Minister. So they  laid an avalanche of charges against him and got him arrested and placed in jail overnight...
Basically my take on "Oh, how the mighty have fallen!"
Nylee Apr 2018
We never took more
never took any less
of our share
for our hunger
when everyone stared
it is rightfully ours.
Long before
we were
the beggars,
When we had nothing
no more,
did millions of tiny chores.
We were wronged
no one shared,
we looked at them
gave them pitiful stare,
we wanted the same care
and now that we
climbed the ladder
we are no better
that we are having
our healthy dinner,
there is someone
rising upper
working under the sun
this summer
and maybe
we were wrong
and someone knew it better.
LNI Mar 2018
How are we supposed to love if we don't even share the same definition?
It's farcical.
People say they love you, but they don’t.
They love how you make them feel.
They love you because you’re appealing or wealthy or something else.
Thus they're taking something from you.
They love how freely you live your life and how they lack any responsibility towards you.
They love you since you make them feel ecstatic and whole.
Thy love how you make them come and how you drink their juices.

But don't hurry to judge them as we've all taken away recklessly by the spiral band of morality.

But this isn't loving.
This is pilfering.
This is usurping upon my way of existing accomplished painfully.
This is seizing my ability to fight.
This is begging for my sympathy.
This isn't loving.
This is projecting on me something that I’m not.

Love was supposed to be lovely.
It was supposed to be about giving not taking.
It was supposed to be about accepting not judging and manipulating.
Love was supposed to be therapeutic not the sickness.
What have we done to love?
I’ve given up entirely to love.
I’m going for my love from now on.
I am love.
I must be love.
Nidhi Panandikar Mar 2018
She saved me from my biggest fear, losing her.
She made me into the man i truly thought i would never be, a beggar of pardon.

I feared she would never see how broken i was, I’d still like to hide that.
But perhaps i put her on a pedestal too high, For she climbed way up, only to tie me a noose.
The noose of freedom
Seema Feb 2018
This is ones story,
Full of miseries and worry,
Surrounded by silence of loneliness,
All its prayers lost at the feet of the holiness,
Living with bitter memories everyday,
Time passes fast as like the month of May,
Stretched hands towards its friends,
And all left with their stories to end,
Went to families for support,
And was treated worst than a stray dog,
Now it walks alone in the shadows,
Looking out to the empty wretched windows,
With aimless life and no one at reach,
It follows the birds and bees to preach,
Wise say life is short,
But I say its not,
For it has made one a beggar,
Its life with memories stabbed with a dagger,
Motionless it lays under shrubs and trees,
Waiting for its soul to get free and body to freeze,
From all the miseries and worries,
That haunt it like how we hear in most stories...

Scribbling thoughts.
Salmabanu Hatim Dec 2017
One frosty day, the
beggar begged from home,online,
Help! Send migrant home.
The clever beggar earned more than  he would  have in a year.
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