The Beggar woman under the tree
On the way to my office I daily see
Reminds me of the poem by Sri Sri
Titled aptly ‘Bhikshu Varshiyasi’.
In the unbearable heat of summers
In the monsoon with its thunders and rains
Through the teeth chattering, bone chilling
winters
She is there, all by her self, with nowhere
to go.
Staring in space, sometimes fidgeting
Perhaps for a respite she is longing
I often in guilt wonder how she is
surviving
Her bedding the rags torn and tattered
Her only possession a bundle stacked
In between the branches of the tree
All this and much more I see
Now I begin to understand why
The kings of yore went around in disguise
And Gautam the Buddha closed his eyes
To help the wretched; a salvation to seek.
And I. I
too close my eyes
In helplessness, hypocrisy and pretence
For no solution on Earth I see for the
meek.
