Ripples
Down the dusty road,
in tattered rags,
He came,
weary,
wilted,
and
withered.
Body bent with age,
bones sticking out of the flabby skin,
with a tremor
running down his limbs.
With eyes reflecting hope,
he waited at my doorstep.
No words came out from pursed lips
but,
in mute language
begged for alms,
hopeful he would never be betrayed
I held his shriveled hand,
helped him ascend the steps.
Like a child obeying it’s...
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