WAITING  FOR THE BUS

Amin Kassam

Old men wait at he stop

Huddling from rain

Under a tree

As I pass

Running to catch up

With my reflection

In a puddle

They laugh

They laugh

And talk of death.

BEGGAR

Amin Kassam

There he stoops all day

Wrinkled

Grey-haired

Senile

With his stained beard, and his pavement bowl.

Hand hopefully outstretched

Entreating

Entreating with his eyes

Entreating with his tongue

Entreating with his hand

Yet we saunter by

Eyes earthwards rivetted

Sometimes a knurled stick

Sometimes none

Alawys the fillthy Kanzu

The tattered Kanzu

We have observed him sightless

Deaf and dumb

We have seen him piteously hopping

Hobbling and crawling

Still, we ignore the gnarled palm

Still pore over the drab pavement.

Perhaps he is blind

Pitiful.

Yet he misses not every proffered coin

Though the gesture is silent.

Perhaps he can see?

So we stalk past

So we ignore old age

So we condemn bare poverty!