The Pauper

THE PAUPER Bent and frail, the old man stood Seeking alms only when in need of food Without any whining to gain sympathy But an upturned palm and a silent plea In the five odd years that I saw him on Lansdowne Road To and from office with long strides as I strode Merely a few times did he indicate his need Which at first I ignored, as I did his creed One afternoon, on my way back home Engrossed in thought and walking alone An upturned palm was thrust from the side And I fished for change and my rancour died After that, he ignored me a while I felt he was testing me, as he would a child A frugal life he lived, and his needs were few To him it mattered little whence the ill wind blew There is a temple off the road where he lived Where the rich and powerful come to voice their need And at the temple gate loiter a clutch of beggars But never he; he sported different feathers He shunned the spot where the pickings were fair He had his dignity though his back was bare A pungent odour still pervades the space he dwelt Even a week after the morning of his death Torso hanging forward between parted knees His lips barely grazing mother earth for a farewell kiss I saw him slouched thus, on that log that day And distinctly recall it was morning, and the 14th of May He died with dignity on his wooden throne In death, as in life, he was all alone I still don’t know what his story was Nor how the dice of his fate was cast