Time

It never gets done
When you think it's done
Dawns come too fast
Tumbling over one another
Like children.
Before the dreams arrive
The alarm goes off
Like a wakeful child
Wanting company.
The broom seems
To have hardly left your hand
When you picked it up
So many years ago
To help your mother.
How nice it would be
To sweep time away
Like this
And draw a new kolam
After your heart.