Sinchan Chatterjee writes

Chimney-sweeper 



I tie a rope around my stomach
And ask to be lowered again.
I hang in the air
And wipe the four sides of the walls with care:
One layer at a time.
I sing myself a song
As I go lower and lower,
Starting from the top
Scratching the surface,
Every day I see new depths
I scrub and scrub,
I toil and toil. 


Sometimes I get crushed
Between the narrowing walls.
Someday I will reach the bottom
Having swept it clean
All the way to the ground. 


I am journeying through my mind
And all the darkness that has gathered
From years of ungrateful, exhausting use.
I run my fingers gently
And dream of buried memories. 


Nothing passes here except for fire
Nothing stays except for soot and ash.

Scherenschnitte (cut paper) of a chimneysweep -- Hans Christian Andersen