The bloody Pen Poet Narrative

When I gave beggar a coin

A beggar grabbed my hand and cried for some spare change.

At first, I offered him a sweet memory of food or a tasteless sip of divine water, but he asked for money.

I had a heavy coin and gave it to him.

I wondered why he took only the money, and when he saw it, he immediately placed it in a different spot.

I asked why.

I offered you food and water—you rejected both, and now you hide the coin.

He said it was the most different one, and if he didn’t hide it, other people would start accusing him that the coin was wrong, that it shouldn’t be used—because its print was different, because its color didn’t match theirs.

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