Rushing for the morning train for work uptown,
Blowing its whistle, commotion letting me down,
I boarded this insane bedlam, sweat all over me,
Alas, the feet found some inches to breathe.
There was but the constant shoving,
A trepidation, “lest someone picked my pocket!”
Like the lady, with that precious locket,
Suddenly,a poor little soul got my eye moving.
It was a crippled beggar stealing my pity,
Limping on from seat to seat,
Only a shabby rag to keep his dignity,
Just a few paise for keeping the floor neat.
No one cared for him, no more than an irritant,
“Why don’t you do something worthwhile”, someone intervened,
An unwanted commodity, an addition to their agony
Every seat poured him with even more ignominy.
Such a darling, such innocence,
No one could see, nobody could sense,
He limped on, unshaken, his faith untouched,
Wiping the last speck with sincerity unmatched.
Then God spawned a rupee underneath a seat,
If someone questioned his intent, “Babu, is this yours?”
The man grasped for it, and turned his head
His innocence craved reward. None was given, not a word said.
His faith jolted, may be, not broken, like I feared
He limped on, to the next seat, finally disappeared,
A picked pocket there, all blame put on the poor soul,
I receded away. He is innocent, no one needs to be told.