The back aches,
as the broom sweeps
into memory, at dawn
soil-pimples sprouted,
on the front yard
of the house in slumber
eyes deep shut.

Perhaps the rain could have
eased the ground
last night.
Earthworms must have
stirred it under,
toiling, maybe sleepless, to
build tiny homes of earth.
Only to be razed,
to be spread,
in finger-streaks
the broom leaves behind
after the sweeper girl's
morning dance,
her bent back step.

The sweeping done,
dawn alights
Light falls, the eyes
of the house open
No footprint,
Not even fallen leaves,
how clean it is !
The newspaper arrives
having scoured
the depths of night,it falls
stumbling against the door.

Then, she rises from cleaning the shreds
So thirsty, she'd drink the coffee to its lees.
Translated by J.Devika