Met you on the river one day,
Sat together for quite a while.
The river has a window, you said,
Through it I will fly away.
Kept remembering what you said
Even after I left you to reach my village.
If the river has a window, it must be a house;
If you wanted to fly away, it must be a jail.
I live among the poor,
In a hutment just like theirs.
Eat what I get.
Have to fetch water from afar,
Hear father calling me a dog.
Have to clear mother's shit and piss.
Tins, sandals, bottles, paper,
My job is to pick and sell them all
People call me rag-picker,
Carriages refuse my knapsack.
Yet I called you.
You didn't come.
I know your people:
Those like big buildings.
They locked you up
In stanzas and metres.
You saw the world through a hole,
Tripped and fell against household things.
Won't forget the way you looked at me
As, decked in silks and smiles,
you sped away to the temple in a car.
Tired of it all, eh?
A girl may long
to see the woods,
to sleep in a thatched hut,
to wade through filth and slush.
She will burn in the sun,
catch a fever in the rain.
What you want is freedom, right?
That is all we have:
You can say what you like,
can bathe in the brook,
can chirp with the wagtails
visiting the compound,
can sit on a mat on the veranda.
Mother and father will
keep you company.
I will come rushing after work.
Can lie down on a supper
of gruel and sprouts
or just watch the sky.
Owl hoots should scare you,
Then I will cover you with love.