Tabea Mangelsdorf: Beggars’ Repast
A sweet reminder that we’re all one regardless of wealth or geography . . . and that the kingdom of heaven is “at hand.”
By Tabea Mangelsdorf
Heat and spices, tobacco and rats, beggars press around.
I feel so helpless, to them I’m the rich, how can we know each other?
But my eyes avoid their misery.
As if an echo to my thoughts, a pleading tug, from a boy.
One hand presents his bony legs, the other opens demanding alms.
Again my choice to look or turn away.
Some force nags in spite of my fear, why won’t i look at him?
I brace myself, and turn my eyes, a moment suspends
Un-sureness fades and he grins.
Here we stand, shy and moved, we giggle and go our ways.
Urged by wonder, i find the boy and hand him my bag of fruit,
And quickly I leave, dunno, what else can I do?
A nudge starts me from reverie, a timid hand presents
A small bag of chocolate treats, we are to be his guests.
Stunned, we make room for him.
With expectant eyes, he offers to each, we must with grace accept
And every new pleading face is asked to join our group.
Our round grows wide, the train comes too soon.
Topics: Music | Tags: poverty, Supply