I was a door.
The harder they beat me
The wider I opened
They walked in and saw
A great cosmic whirligig
When the grinding stops, the spinning begins
When the spinning stops, the sewing begins
Something or other, all day, non-stop.
And in the end my broom sweeps it all up
Sweeps up the stars in the sky
Mountains, trees, stones
All the shards and splinters of creation
Collects them in a basket
Stores them somewhere
In some corner of the mind.
Translated from the Hindi by Ritu Menon.