The old beggar

On the street corner there is a beggar
With his hand outstretched, towards another world
Than the one where, nameless,
He atones for everyone's laughter.

Teenagers still hold on to jokes
And put their own signs in his palm,
He is old and understanding,
With us, all of us, but, with the little ones, specifically.

And whoever notices, it hurts,
That he has been here since ancient times,
Imperturbed, in this tumult,
He, the beggar, forgot to die.

Beneath his rags, the miracle is embodied,
In him is God, who stands guard.