Sweeping At Your Doorstep Poem by nithya raghavan

Gently pecking with my
broom, at your doorstep,
as i did for many years,
carrying my ancestral tradition,
and allowing my frowning
face to smile at your
posh sun-filled room,
which you've managed to maintain,
by sweeping votes, however,
fraudulent, the methods are
considered to be,
Meanwhile, i just pick
a rupee coin and find
myself stranded in a prison,
on which the sun never
shines, i still confront
eagles that wait with
their sharp talons and claws,
to ruthlessly tear my body
apart, deserting my children.

You smile and speak,
of the utopia of,
trees and smooth roads,
where we don't sleep on,
the cold floors of the slum,
on a half-moon night,
when wolves growl with,
their dagger-like teeth,
surrounding us in our sleep.
it is always us,
who are targeted by,
the tsunami at the Marina beach,
the second-longest beach in the world.
you just sit there and
speak of welfare projects,
which don't exist,
in this planet, which are
like the submissive hoots,
of an owl in the jungle.

As i continue to sweep
your doorstep, i secretly
thank my ancestor for
one thing; to accept our
world fraught with violence,
and deep regret and the
courage to keep smiling,
thinking of the times,
when the branches
of the gigantic tree of creation,
strangles fox's tails,
by holding it upside down,
Another lesson passed down,
the line of tradition.................