A poem I wrote...

...upon meeting a beggar on a Colaba sidestreet:

The Walking Skeleton

From the restaurant doors
Sweet aromas creep-
Food some can afford,
Others only in sleep.

Both starving, we rush-
'This place looks a delight!'-
But hungry fingers clutch
My flesh, plump and white.

'Namaste!' he says
And wiggles his head-
As I shiver in the face
Of the living dead.

Sharp breath- I turn
Towards the light,
And leave him to creep
Back into night-

And let tastes so sweet
Overpower my sight.