The wind tugging at the hem of her black and gold caftan,
struggling to pull her close as it blasts its way,
she stands remote, her hands crossed across her bosom,
oblivious to the catcalls of urchins as they loll past her,
staring at her with insolent curiosity, yet respectful,
her eyes looking beyond the jungle of traffic,
past the bleating cars, past the commuters,
to the desire of her heart, she waits patient,
monument of sacrifice,
mutely shaking her head in negation, as vendors,
spread their colourful array of goods before her,
hoping to take advantage of her soft tender face.
Gentle and barren, the black hem of her caftan,
forming a respectful train, she waits,
waits for her dream, her eyes firm and resolute,
a part, yet not a part of this world.
Commuters hurry past her with dispassionate glances,
trained in the controlled cynicism of stock markets,
casting her into the scattered scrambled memories,
to mull over in the security of their home,
the pathetic sweet figure they think they smiled at.
As her lips start to tremble and her eyes dim,
no longer her bright messengers of hope,
she sees her dream and flings her arms around him,
and as he lifts her up in his arms, kissing her radiant face,
the great city of commercial gods carries on, oblivious as ever,
to the triumphant march of love.
Adreyo Sen resides in Kolkata, India. He is pursuing his MFA degree at Stony Brook, Southampton.
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