Every morning, I walked past her with a violin in my ears
Like everyone else, I never greeted her
I have no idea why
Maybe it is because of the peace on her face
peace I had not felt in ages
Or maybe it was the wrinkles on her face
that held the stories of her many years of life
unlike mine which showed the failure in my youth.
She always worked with grace; something I admired
Like an angel, she picked up the leaves from the road
and with sublime efficiency, tucked them away forever
just so the music played by the tyres on the road could be uniform.
I always wondered if she got paid
or worked pro-bono because of the harmony it brought her
or this was an escape from the demons of her past
that rendered her awake so early while the sun was still asleep.
Did she ever wake up to the laughter of her children
or the clucking of chicken?
I wondered daily.
The more I did, the more I got bothered
and realized there was no need to care.
Would it make me a better man if I found out
that she had children that cared for her
or a lover that embraced her when she returned home
and rubbed her feet in a bowl of warm water?
I did not need to know.
I am just another man on the street
On a journey whose destination I do not know.
Only God knows the color of the next day's sun