At The Airport Lounge
I indira babbellapati
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All the trappings dropped
Some pretensions still clinging
I stand
At the crossroads
Of life's intersecting paths
Busy passers-by engrossed
In routine businesses
Walk hand in hand
Hands across shoulders
Endlessly with eyes closed
Their faces with sprinkled
Talcum powder and pantomime paint...
I stand
Feet straddled
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş