its true as a mystic poet
i shoot beggars on the street
muslim mothers misplaced irony
of their fate and their defeat
sitting hoping against hope
forgotten by god on his beat
i try to conjure through my
cosmic lens within her veil
her anger her helplessness
her inner angst overflowing
her black winding sheet
her little child bewildered
in wonderment tries
to plead will i
or will i not offer him
some sweets his soul
helplessly touching
his mothers feet
was it gods will
that it is beggars
on my journey
i holistically meet
like them my fate
too i cannot cheat
i think of the hungry
in this world before
i sit at the table
open my mouth
to eat..my poetic
pathos incomplete
to a god omnipresent
i seek mercy i entreat
