I too, sing India

I too, sing India 

There’s no caste mark smeared on my forehead
But I am the one who sits outside your house
When food is served; they serve it to me with dread
In a throwaway plate. I have seen steel plates from afar.

I smile, I laugh, and I uncover the manhole
I too, am India.

I am damp and soiled;
I tie a scarf, and pop my head
out of the manhole

This is how I earn my bread.

I too, am India. 

Outside your house.
In a corner of the street,
Earning scorn and grouse.



/For the uninitiated, I too, am America is a poem by Langston Hughes. The title and spirit of the poem is inspired by that./