The Beggar

I’ve seen many a time, a beggar.

He sits under the old oak you know,
Just down the street.

He sits there with his hands spread
Crying out just, just a rupee for today’s bread.

He is pitiable.
I wonder why he took to begging.

He is not disabled, that much I know
And his handicap, it never does show.

Was it joblessness? I asked.
But to this he just smiled.

My attempts to know him were futile,
And he’s been there all this while.

I’ve known him for ten years now
And till today I wonder, why?

But my questions get lost in his smile.