A Modern Confession for a Dying Beggar

Written by: yasser rhimi

Die and crave-
Make me not hear your story,
Though I like to see you gaze
By the end of the day.
Tremble when you see me
As though I were a chill
Perhaps I am the soft care-
Taker of your bones.
Should I remember traces
Engraved by your moans,
I shall endorse those bywords
Equating you with me
You think I have to treat you
Indeed, I loathe your mother
I’d rather you were unseen
So that I shed you no tear.
Your father stole my fresh air
And so do you from me now;
Unless you give up breathing
My true blood will be bother’d.
O, please, forgive my true words-
They planned to vex your ego
They gather’d all my reasons
To help you rest in peace.
But, though you shall be tasting
The acrid sweat of my ease,
At least, allow my goodness
To sweat for all old beggars.