Poverty

R. Sundaresan

It is a sheet of bleached sunlight
all over the street;
somewhere in the middle, a lump of man;
a blotch of poverty
defiling the purity of sunlight.

It is a sheet of bleached sunlight
all over the street;
an old man is dragging a cart,
loaded with girders, cots and sofa sets;
as drops of sweat
drip from his body on the ground
continuously,
he imprints his poverty
all along his way.

It is a sheet of bleached sunlight
all over the street;
an old, woman vegetable vendor,
who walks home,
hungry and weak,
having sold her stock,
clears her throat and spits,
once, twice, three times;
clots of blood drop,
making clear marks of her poverty,
in three places;
in the dry, glistening earth,
the imprint of her poverty
has a remarkable clarity.