She Begs
As I wander in the trappings of a day dream, this woman made me hover and yield in pure interest.
She was wearing the color brown from top to bottom. Her hair was bound tight by what seemed like wooven straw. She wore no adorment, but I think I did saw a scapular around her wrist. Her expression wasn't blank but it showed no emotion. Her eyes.. they were like tidal waves frozen. Like photo showered in deep sepia, her aura bewitch all that surround her. At the very least, she must be 80 years old or something.
Along the stampede of rush hour, along the coming and going of trains, she waits immovably by the stairs. Her arms wrapped in aged skin dangle in the air as her palm carry very little weight. As soon as I saw shy tears fall, a realization occurred. She is nothing actually, but a filthy old beggar. She begs for pity alms amidst dust and dirt.
As I slowly walked my path past her, sea of questions floated. What happened to her? Does she have a house? Has she eaten for the day? Where is her husband? Is he dead? What about her children? Are they somewhere near? How much does she have collected? Is it enough for tomorrow? How could a handful of change give her a living? What is her name and, before time has waivered, who was she then?
She begs money for food. At some point in time she must have gone to fancy dinners and lavish celebrations. In her lifetime, I thought, she must have had more than enough in her purse to buy whatever she wants. But, what happened? Why is she now what I see her to be. Why is she not like the other aged? Why is she living in the streets? Why, in the years of twilight, does she still have to beg for money that wouldn't even suffice a hungry child? Why?
In her face I have seen the saddest. Here is reality.
Perhaps, there is no answer to this. Ever since the day we could distinguish the difference between lack and bounty we have always felt moved by the urban poor. The thing is, we could pour out our hearts and minds and pockets yet derive no solution. Sad but true. There are a million of them and heck, we couldn't even solve our own problems let alone solve theirs. All we simply could do is pity and shed a few coins here and there. I didn't give mine. I decided to blog and tell a few about it.
Anyway, the beggar would still be at the stairs. I just don't know for how long. But as for the current, as you and me pass by, there she sits and there she begs.
+++
She was wearing the color brown from top to bottom. Her hair was bound tight by what seemed like wooven straw. She wore no adorment, but I think I did saw a scapular around her wrist. Her expression wasn't blank but it showed no emotion. Her eyes.. they were like tidal waves frozen. Like photo showered in deep sepia, her aura bewitch all that surround her. At the very least, she must be 80 years old or something.
Along the stampede of rush hour, along the coming and going of trains, she waits immovably by the stairs. Her arms wrapped in aged skin dangle in the air as her palm carry very little weight. As soon as I saw shy tears fall, a realization occurred. She is nothing actually, but a filthy old beggar. She begs for pity alms amidst dust and dirt.
As I slowly walked my path past her, sea of questions floated. What happened to her? Does she have a house? Has she eaten for the day? Where is her husband? Is he dead? What about her children? Are they somewhere near? How much does she have collected? Is it enough for tomorrow? How could a handful of change give her a living? What is her name and, before time has waivered, who was she then?
She begs money for food. At some point in time she must have gone to fancy dinners and lavish celebrations. In her lifetime, I thought, she must have had more than enough in her purse to buy whatever she wants. But, what happened? Why is she now what I see her to be. Why is she not like the other aged? Why is she living in the streets? Why, in the years of twilight, does she still have to beg for money that wouldn't even suffice a hungry child? Why?
In her face I have seen the saddest. Here is reality.
Perhaps, there is no answer to this. Ever since the day we could distinguish the difference between lack and bounty we have always felt moved by the urban poor. The thing is, we could pour out our hearts and minds and pockets yet derive no solution. Sad but true. There are a million of them and heck, we couldn't even solve our own problems let alone solve theirs. All we simply could do is pity and shed a few coins here and there. I didn't give mine. I decided to blog and tell a few about it.
Anyway, the beggar would still be at the stairs. I just don't know for how long. But as for the current, as you and me pass by, there she sits and there she begs.
+++
Labels: Opinion
posted by Tj Cafuir at
7:17 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home