My back aches as at dawn
with a broom I turn into past
the pockmarked fronrtyard
of the sleeping house.
May be the rain left this frontyard
Drenched last night, and the earth-worms
lost their sleep in ploughing the earth
and builiding in the dark their tiny homes-.
only to be razed and scatter
as a row of nail marks left
by the palm-frond fingers of the broom
once the dance of a woman's bent back is done.
Sweeping over, when sunlight spreads
and the house opens its eyes to the dawn,
how neat lies the frontyard,
no footmarks, not even a dry leaf!
When the newspaper drops
through the filters of the night,
this one who has stretched herself after sweeping
just longs to drink some coffee to the lees.
Translated By : K.Satchidanandan
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem