early morning
what i hear is the sound of
sweeping
when i look out from my window
i see this old woman
sweeping the ground
stooping
finding the dead leaves and
some grass
making a heap and then
burning all these
into ashes
she sits down under the mango tree
waiting for its fruiting
soon, soon,
somewhere her gaze follows the smoke
which finds its way into
the heavens....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem