The Beggar's Lament

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Aajmal Henry

The Beggar’s Lament

A pittance is all I ask, no more 

One cannot ask for less 

Please turn not thy hands to give, something 

My need I do profess 

I have nothing  in return, but give 

For aren't thou generous?

Thou hath been raised in station, noble 

Tis a post onerous 

I beg: grant my subjects rain, a day 

Not long a span is this 

And shield me from grim scheming 

And the foul’s bloody kris

And grant us over our foes, crush them

Yet thou art powerless?

Alas, tis too much to ask of mortal men

And thou need not be blamed for limits inherent to thy kin

Except that thou thinketh thyself silver, when thou art tin

So I turn my empty hands to the lord of heaven 

And the earth below, and all things therein 

From whom a pittance is all I ask, be it accepted or denied 

For he is the possessor, king of kings, most high