a beggar

the soul in the wretched body
finds its way through the hardship
willing to lay its home even on the five foot
for the sake of a night’s sleep,
stomach is not eased of hunger
a glass of water a consoling fill
the soul cares not much
for it knows, if the lord wills
tomorrow will be one more day,
the sores of the open wounds
invite the flies for a delightful fiest
making further holes they lay eggs to breed
on some a few maggots wriggles happily,
the torn dress hardly a clothe
for the soul is not cold
just a renter for temporal stay
it cares less for paltry status or state.

the neighbor the mind makes much fuss
in cold the neighbor frown for wanting of clothe
because the neighbor beliefs a stay longer will be there
for him to say and entertain himself,
the wriggling maggots
makes the mind squirm in discomfort
medicine it want, a cure anticipated
but the master - the soul doesn’t care
because in maggots too the essence of soul lies alive.

the soul, the mind, the beggar
the trinity in existence
conflicting in many ways
but, the soul wants not more than
a little morsel to feed the stomach
a short nap to rebuild the wretched hut.

the mind lost
as the need of soul a priority number one
the beggar happily makes his routine
a blissful soul he appears to be
in divine I pray he establish oneness.

©2006 by cyclopseven. All rights reserved.