Down a deserted street,
There once lived a beggar
Whose colour was so black
Some people called him a nigger.
This beggar on this street,
Had lost his hands and feet
But though he was fragile,
He never lost his smile.
The passers-by found it strange,
The nature of this man
Cause though he struggled to exist,
He never did look wan.
He begged for food with dignity,
And he was always tireless
And those who did take pity
Were the ones whom he blessed.
He seemed to rest very little
And turned up everyday
He begged in the name of God
To the people on that way.
He seemed to be the only one,
The only wretch of his kind
Whom some pitied and most cursed,
As a shameful bane of mankind.
But he didn’t seem ashamed of his state
Nor of his poor condition
Instead he seemed quite proud,
Of something known by none.
Some people said he had a family
In the corner of the street in a hut
Which he visited very little
So that the door always remained shut.
Though three years had now passed,
His position hadn't changed
But one fine day in March,
Some difference occurred on that lane.
Nobody was begging there,
With a bowl and a dirty bag
The people passing had noticed,
That there was no sign of that man.
Instead in the corner of the street,
Some people sat mourning.
Some men who seemed blind,
And ladies with babies crying.
A few people went there
And inquired what the matter was
And were shocked when they got the answer,
About the reason of that chaos.
The old beggar whom they cursed,
Who begged at the roadside,
Had come into the way of a car
Because of which he died.
These people were in relation
With that bane of nature,
And it was them of whom he was proud
Cause he was their angelic creature.
He begged for their living
And for their food and water
And without him they couldn’t do anything
Cause there was very little energy they could muster.
The passers-by took pity,
But it was only money that they could give
After which they went away,
Leaving these people on their own to live.
In this tragic way died a saviour,
A faithful servant of the Lord
And though to us his service seems little,
For his relatives he’ll always remain God.
There once lived a beggar
Whose colour was so black
Some people called him a nigger.
This beggar on this street,
Had lost his hands and feet
But though he was fragile,
He never lost his smile.
The passers-by found it strange,
The nature of this man
Cause though he struggled to exist,
He never did look wan.
He begged for food with dignity,
And he was always tireless
And those who did take pity
Were the ones whom he blessed.
He seemed to rest very little
And turned up everyday
He begged in the name of God
To the people on that way.
He seemed to be the only one,
The only wretch of his kind
Whom some pitied and most cursed,
As a shameful bane of mankind.
But he didn’t seem ashamed of his state
Nor of his poor condition
Instead he seemed quite proud,
Of something known by none.
Some people said he had a family
In the corner of the street in a hut
Which he visited very little
So that the door always remained shut.
Though three years had now passed,
His position hadn't changed
But one fine day in March,
Some difference occurred on that lane.
Nobody was begging there,
With a bowl and a dirty bag
The people passing had noticed,
That there was no sign of that man.
Instead in the corner of the street,
Some people sat mourning.
Some men who seemed blind,
And ladies with babies crying.
A few people went there
And inquired what the matter was
And were shocked when they got the answer,
About the reason of that chaos.
The old beggar whom they cursed,
Who begged at the roadside,
Had come into the way of a car
Because of which he died.
These people were in relation
With that bane of nature,
And it was them of whom he was proud
Cause he was their angelic creature.
He begged for their living
And for their food and water
And without him they couldn’t do anything
Cause there was very little energy they could muster.
The passers-by took pity,
But it was only money that they could give
After which they went away,
Leaving these people on their own to live.
In this tragic way died a saviour,
A faithful servant of the Lord
And though to us his service seems little,
For his relatives he’ll always remain God.
No comments:
Post a Comment