The Truth about Dhanya

His old skin
is like the ground
on which he sleeps,
so also, his rags.

He cannot
stand upright
or walk without pain,
does odd jobs
for the ten families
of The Retreat, collects
a few coins every day,
uses them for tea
and smoking.

Given food, he eats,
otherwise, he goes without.
Quite a cheerful chap, really.

Nobody minds his presence
as he stumbles around the place.
He's lucky, in a way,
isn't out in the streets, begging.
We look after him
and he makes himself useful.

That's all the truth about Dhanya.

By Nissim Ezekiel from Poems Written in 1974