HUNKERED DOWN THE NIGHT IN THE BEGGARS’ QUARTER
Hunkered down the night in the beggars’ quarter
Only but once had to unsheath the blade but an inch
Till the glint, refracted by the fire i slept beside
Caught the eye of the would-be assailant
The would-be amputee
Lest he dared reach out to touch me
The city walls are heavily protected
Without documents out
Never again
Back in
Don’t worry, friends
We’ve thought this through
Cannot live with their hands in my purse
Their eyes always upon me
They deciding where i sleep
Where i toil
Or what the toll
When the entourage arrived
Granted express congress
With the emperor, hierophants, and magistrates
I saw that the gems, stones, tinctures, weapons from outer tribes
Were greatly desired, enough to win this caravan
Banquet, entertainment, libation, quarter, and reward
When i sized up those carrying the swords and bows
I knew right then
What i’d waited for
I haven’t been studying
A dozen foreign tongues
In my solitary cell
If not otherwise honing my sword play
Or hammering out molten steel
To earn measly coppers
For not
But one eye-to-eye interaction
With the cadre
Risked only for return
And i know enough
That if my movement isn’t swift
Or exact
Or gets me up over the rails
Of that wagon
To the empty barrel waiting for me
I will miss my ride
WHO IS CAPTAIN B?
Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro
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2 poems by Sreekanth Kopuri
