Monday, September 06, 2004
Untitled poem written couple of weeks back pre-Beijing where else, but at a bus-stop
A myriad of faces,
this bus-stop.
lives passing us by
rushing minds
two seconds of familiarity
swept afresh by a new expression.
the story behind every smile, a wink,
clasped hands
who can decipher them
look, don't judge,
impressions only last till the next
stranger who walks past.
A myriad of faces,
this bus-stop.
lives passing us by
rushing minds
two seconds of familiarity
swept afresh by a new expression.
the story behind every smile, a wink,
clasped hands
who can decipher them
look, don't judge,
impressions only last till the next
stranger who walks past.
