The Lockdown Street Cleaner

By Iona Mandal

Highly Commended, ‘Growing Word’ Category

foghorn misty morn
in the compass of places
the ship in my eyes,
far from frenzied crowds
dandelion dropping peace
in a world of fight,
as dewdrops glisten
catching the hide-and-seek sun
learning to make peace. 

matchstick raindrops fall
slumber on the red-brick roof
the sun rests in peace,
a pair of blackbirds
in spring showers chirp and wet
dancing beak to beak,
blossoms fall like tears
from overlapping branches
i count and gather. 

to the autumn winds
dead leaves rise in cosmic dance
a dancing cyclone,
fetters of life rust
orange, brown, gold and mustard
a new year treads in,
on the rusty gate
i had not noticed autumn
she had gone too soon. 

on the barren roads
each sweep in gentle stroke wipes
life uncurls alive,
i sweat in labour
ashen hands joined in prayer
bat wings by the night,
i live here each day
broken streets, broken footsteps
saudade on sleepless nights. 

tears drop like dewdrops
even amidst my dreaming
i wipe and move on,
in undying zeal
for when passion rules the roost
each struggle seems small,  
a halo surrounds
binding love and belonging
one dream at a time.  

a globe of vibrance
enclosed in a skin of warmth
the sun in my palm,
spread kindness afar
like a spring dandelion
blowing in the breeze,
let that single act
outshine you in the darkness
join the gaps between.

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Growing Word poems