Bare foot,through the bazar,
And with the same undulant grace
As the cloth blown back from her face,
She glides with a stone jar,
High on her head
And not a ripple in her tread,
Watching her cross erect
Stones,garbage,excrement and crumbs
of glass in the karachi slums,
I,with my stoop,reflect.
They stand most straight
Who learn to walk beneath a weight.
