poems_dilse
Saturday, September 24, 2005
On a lonesome streetIn the corner of one lonesome dusty street
Is where she first came in my sight
Scantily clad in torn pieces of white cloth
She defied the bitterness of a cold winter night
There was something in those eyes
Other than the orphic, faraway gaze
Existing above the deep dark half-moons
That told more of her struggle than her age
Scattered around her on a tattered cloth
Were some coins glistening in the light rays
And pieces of bread left for the next meal
Her only means of living through her days
Her hands trembled as she extended
The soiled metal bowl to the passer-by
Her skin dangled with the weight of her effort
But each time she made just another last try
Her face demanded no pity for herself
It was just a carving cut out from stone
With no emotions, expressions or expectations
But just marks of dried up tears that shone
The sunburnt skin and her faded 'sari'
Easily distinguishable from each other
Merged if you looked at their creases
As if they were taken and crumpled together
As I walked on that lonesome street
Her uncanny appearence stole my glance
But like everyone else, I walked away
Soon forgetting that ephemeral instance.
