the door

i was a door
the harder they beat me
the wider i opened

they came in and saw
a great cosmic whirling,
when the grinding stops,
the spinning begins,
when the spinning stops,
the sewing begins,

something or the 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
deep inside
in some corner of the mind
-ritu menon