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I street Sweeper,
I could you tell you my dreams!
While I sweep, sweep clean all the alleys and bins,
When I sing, sing songs of the cars and the clothes,
That maybe one day, would give me a face and a name.
 
I street sweeper,
I move, move because I am invisible,
I know, know because I have no voice,
I am allowed to see, see because I am blind,
This is why I am trusted with the secrets of this city.
 
I street sweeper,
Have a kanga for the naked and mad,
Pick up the wrappers and packs,
Of a population of people who have no time for people,
Who are without face, without name!
 
I street sweeper,
Take whatever scraps remain,
Make a home of whatever is strong,
And a meal at the brink of rot,
A song of the city dwellers.
 
I street sweeper,
A palm frond for a broom,
A ghost worker for a colleague,
Who earns more from littering,
Than I do from cleaning!
 
I street sweeper,
Wheelbarrow, broom and dustpan in tow,
Overalls, headscarf and sore eyes ensemble,
Sweep, sweep while you sleep,
Live and die without an obituary.
 
AmarePoeta.
©AmarePoeta 2014
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Tagged in: home street urban women
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