Humble Salutation Poem by Ajit Das

At the road side corner beneath the hanging balcony
of the abandoned, dilapidated building
she lives alone, weaving baskets, seeking to sell them
to the passers-by; and she has been doing this
since her husband died long time back.
Whatever she earns is hardly enough for her needs,
but she never begs nor takes anything given on charity.

It’s a difficult and terrible existence,
and more so, while warding off lecherous glances,
fighting attempts made with evil intentions.
She tried to find a job, but soon realised the reality
of a price to be paid in return of the favour.
Constant struggle for a living below the stark open sky -
her body is now as if of steel that feels no pain.

A funeral procession is winding round the corner;
someone approaches her to buy baskets for flowers.
She hands over a few, but finding money paid
far exceeding the cost, she returns the extra coins,
offering her humble salutation to the departed soul.