Rag-Picker

by Bibhu Padhi (May 2013)

  Vasco Popa

You are the morning.

The moment I go out,

the smell of your skin and possessions

pervade the invisible air.

The stainless glass you hold

is sufficient for tea,

my first broth of the day,

your real hunger.

How quietly you bring it out

from your sack of miseries

so very mysteriously!

The spring breeze is enough

for the day, while

the wild grass bends under my feet.

And, as I look for you,

your look confirms

my life for the day.

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