Cleanliness is Godliness

His journey starts at the middle and like a Buddhist monk, lost deep in his thoughts, he starts sweeping the road with a shredded broom. In a state of entrancement, I forget to register his every move. No, he couldn’t be that perfect; we all miss a spot once in a while. There must be a pair of hidden eyes attached to his shoulders, eyes that help him navigate his arched back by staying alert and guarding his yawning frame.
To my indolent mind, the end of the road seems like the horizon- the distant place, where the booze-soaked sun, trips over an empty bottle and falls theatrically. A performance directed by God and hailed by poets. He stays unwary of the speeding vehicles and their slimy invectives. I hope, someday, science will shrink those khaki-clad civil servants, and pay them their yearly wages in advance. Somebody has to sanitize these mouths.
When he is done sprinkling the morning shine on the street; when he is through merging rivulet of spit drops with the earth, he quietly turns around, covered in dust and the sound of early morning chant. And when devotion is busy, splashing cold water on God’s bed, he raises his tea glass to take a scalding sip of life.


Published by: flatlined84

A thinker outside the quarantine zone. The words on this blog will assault your senses, would make you curse in the holy name of Bard. If that's not enough, leave a piece of your mind in the comments section- the writer is on the dole and is always hungry.

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