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He descended from the sky,

wearing green shorts over blue pyjamas,

something that did not resemble

the image we carry in our minds.

He wasn’t Superman.

He introduced himself as Sweeperman.

With a broom in his hand,

he cleaned the city streets,

cleaned the vile thoughts of people,

the hatred inside them,

their greed,

their evil-minded desires.

Sweeping was his day job.

But something within him

was immensely powerful.

The peculiar mask he wore

was only a disguise.

If he came in his real form,

he would look like an ordinary guy.

In truth,

he is still an ordinary guy.

Before anyone wakes in the morning,

his magic broom cleans the streets,

the alleys,

all those places where people place their feet,

so that no dust

may cling to them.

And at night,

he becomes a mysterious figure,

a silhouette in the distance.

No one can ever guess

what he is capable of.

Sweeperman.

Sweeping the sky of blood,

sweeping hatred from the mind.

He fights with his broom.

I can imagine all these things,

sitting quietly in my room.