The Canto Of Begging - Vii Poem by murari sinha

in the canto of my begging
at the day’s end
the moon that rises behind the rain-tree

i put up in her hands
the lemon-leaves the water-balloons the goal-kicks
that i have had throughout the day
by begging

and i beg from her the magic-wand
by the touch of which the date-palm
that was someday burnt by a thunder-bolt
in front of the church
looks very infatuating

and my dress as a beggar gradually
becomes a royal-dress