The Dhobi Poem
In the morning the washed
undergarments smelled of water
in the roadside ditches and
thin bamboo poles fixed
crosswise over the whole of the land of India.
A sagging jute cord supported
the monsoon sky, binding
all fears into
a prayer of no more rain.The indigo applied to the white
clothes was going thinner in the drizzle.
Coins had changed their faces
and markings and worth in the local bazar.
Rumblings in the sky and lightning
hastened him on the
beating-stone in the dhobi-ghat, for ages.
Price of indigo was going higher.
The milk-goat had died last winter.
Kanwali will have to wait another
year for her golden bangles. For centuries
cross-legged
the dhobi sits
thinking of the rising prices of
indigo and lamenting
the death of the sun-god.
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