The Beggar's Opera

THE SUNDAY ODE By Manu Gunasena

The beggars are out in full force this morn;
Begging for alms from all passers by;
And, I, in their footsteps, follow forlorn,
Begging for the love you long deny.

And begging thus traverse these lonely streets alone;
Begging with mournful heart, the love I've always known;
With my begging bowl now empty and bare,
I seek for your alms, for your love and care.

The beggar's opera has now begun;
But e'en before the tenor has sung;
The aria fades, falls in a solemn key
Of love unsung, of a love that never will be.

With love's begonias' bloom you beguile,
Tantalising me for a sweet while;
Then in mood swings you leave me the worse,
Beleaguered with the begging bowl's curse.

Beggared though I am, do not pity me;
Nor shed wanton tears behalf of me;
Beggared beyond hope, self respect survives;
Though beggared I know I'll beget sunrise.

Is this my lot, I beg from you to learn?
Will you n'er give your heart in return;
But forever, as all alms-givers spurn,
Leave unfilled this bowl that within me burn.

Until the love you beggarly bestow
And within my heart you my hopes restore;
Fates have stored in my begging heart's sore;
Bleeding anguish in this begging bowl's core.

Then on bended knees upon love's altar,
I'll proffer love's bowl and beg you falter
Your stubborn heart's stance, your ways to alter;
'N pour to the brim the wine from your altar.

With the begging bowl I carry with me
I pray God’s blessings will shine on me:
That the begging bowl within my soul
You'll fill with nectar and make it whole.

Then with divine alms, I'll hold in my arms
The bliss of you that will soothe and balm;
Still in my begging bowl this brewing storm;
Douse my heart's fires, feel it simmer and calm.