You see the beggar sitted by the corner; down the street you use every day as you walk home. And each day, each moment, as you approach, you know her eyes are on you. But in all this time you haven’t brought yourself to return her gaze.
Are you afraid to see yourself in her pitiful eyes? To see that just like her, you are in need… Are you afraid to help her because, after all, you cannot save the whole world on your own? Are you afraid because you pity her; and feel guilty that you actually pity another human being? Is it why you prefer to look away?
Would it prick your conscience if you would know that she genuinely needs help? Every day she sits there; trying hard to look into your eyes…to attract your gaze. Do you blame her for her neediness? Silently saying that life is unfair, and that maybe she does not deserve to suffer so much?
I am the beggar. You pretend not to see me; every single day you walk home down the street. I am always there-sitted at my corner; my home. I have begged for many years. But every time you pass me, you look aside. You pretend you can’t see me. You pretend I don’t exist, but you know I do.
My eyes, like my hand is stretched out. Please toss a coin in my faded bowl. Soothe this pain I feel. Here in my heart.
You don’t give it a second thought. I watch you walk away; you do not steal a glance my way; you leave me in pain; my hand stretched forth
I do not feel shame; looking into your eyes to beg; to ask your help; because, because right now that’s all I can do-beg. But your gaze. You are determined it cannot meet mine. It should not meet mine.
I am a beggar; I am begging, please help me. I am in pain. Toss a coin in my faded bowl. Do not just walk away, because this overstretched hand is long; it could trip you; and you might fall. Or maybe my eyes; these eyes filled with pain; they might haunt you. And you might get a sleepless night.
*The beggar’s pleas are falling on deaf ears*
My crying is turning into a song. A sad song. A dirge; but let’s say any music should soothe the troubled soul. Maybe my music will hold your attention. I am trying to smile; so that you don’t see the pain in my eyes; so that you see the sincerity of my begging hand.
But no, you are scratching your head; and you walk away, faster, did my music pain your heart? Was it too sincere? Did you for a moment listen to your heart? Did your heart tell you that my faded bowl needs your coins? And yet you walk away; my song is unfinished…
A teardrop. It falls on my empty bowl; my overstretched hand, seeking love, dries up the teardrop; the skin on my face is cracked; just like my cracked hand.
In this moment of pain; let me wipe the tears from eyes; because I can’t see you clearly; as you suddenly turn around to look at me.
I am a beggar. Please toss a coin in my faded bowl.
Elizabeth Ombati 