By Yasen Vedrin
(The Copper Bowl)
I saw a strange thing in my sleeping,
Jesus disguised as a poor man.
Beside a rich man’s doorstep keeping
A comfortless and grieving span.
He stretched his hands to beg for living,
Holding a little copper bowl.
Without answers, without giving
A question if you’re good or foul...
And look – the heavy door is creaking.
Out comes a rich man in a hat.
Like horses, up his head is peeking,
He looks at gray skies, cold and flat.
He goes to buy a paper, walking.
Should he now take a brolly high?
A moment later, near his stalking,
A copper bowl gleams in his eye.
“Oh, just a little mercy, mister!
A tiny coin from your own soul!”
“No! Not for you, you filthy blister!
I’m sick of begging hands that stroll!
Get out of here! You smell like rot!
You crawled from some deep, dirty hole!
Can’t you see written on this spot –
This home is model as a whole?”
With furious eyes after this talking,
The evil wealthy man is bound
To buy a paper from his walking,
With his favorite reportage found.
The beggar Jesus takes a flight
Just like an angel, on the fly.
The heavens hide Him in a bright
And prayerful rain with tearful sky.
Inside a bar, the man is seating,
He opens papers with a smile...
Sips from his coffee while he's eating
A sweet croissant to pass the while...
The rainy weather wakes me inside.
I leave the house, no brolly high.
To find a beggar on the curbside,
With a copper bowl passing by...
To recognize inside my keeping
The longing of the Good God's heart!
I want no more while world is weeping,
A doomed and cruel world from start!
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