Destitute

Expectant face
Moist eyes, lips quivering
Slightly raised, shaking
Listless hands, half begging

Squatting on the side
Eyeing every passing soul
With hope, hesitation
Fear & timidity playing foul

Or just sitting there
Outstretched hands
Downcast, avoiding eyes
Forlorn countenance

Stirring now and again
To make self visible
Showing the clinging life
Still alive, though unlivable

People come and go
Few side-glances, left, right
Others frustrated, annoyed
Moving on, ignoring outright

Now and then, cling cling
Odd coin flung into the bowl
Pieces thrust into the hand
Mumblings, curses, growls

Hot and cold, smoke & dust
Tired muscles, jammed bones
Anguished, hopeless mind
Quashed, smashed expectations

Forlorn figures on the road
Perhaps contemplating fate
Recounting days gone by
Wondering at their own state

Seeing world pass by
Happy, jolly, careless, light
Then coming back to senses
Wondering at one's own plight

There is an ordinary human soul
Condemned to sub-ordinary by time
Or by fate or by fault of whom?
Still, in essence, alike everyone else

A reflection of time present
A sign of time to come
A reminder of time gone by
A poor on the street, a destitute.