Stranger, would you fetch me please my bowl for alms.
I must have forgotten it at the edge of this world.
A repurposed soup-can someone left me as a gift
Rusted so slightly around the edges of its lip;
And a dent from a kind-hearted stranger’s kick.

Maybe it’s filled with the kindness of men
Or perhaps with emotions discarded and stale.
Feel free to take what feels joyous and good
And leave all the undesired for me to consume.
I’ll drink any emptiness if that's all it brewed.

Forgive me oh stranger for the favour I ask.
I am but bound here by the deeds of my past,
Embedded in them are nuggets of regrets.
I cannot face those who’ve inflicted more dents
On my bowl for alms, a can at world’s edge.

Note: I felt like I had hit a slight writer's block. I was also bedridden with slight fever, congestion and weakness. The thought of me having left something at the edge of the world kept resurfacing in my mind. —S.B. (14.09.2020)