CALL HER NOT INSANE......

Early in the morning,
when the blanket
of darkness being
slowly, slowly unveiled by
a warm rising sun and cool breeze
the dusky lady
clad in grimy, torn dress,
her dishevelled hair,
fluttering in the breeze,
talking to herself,
laughing to herself,
smiling to herself,
weeping to herself,
singing to herself,
all lullabies,
dancing round and round,
emotions like fluctuating,
weather patterns,
reaches our junction.
A daily visitor, she
nobody seems like seeing her,
nobody cares not watching her,
ugly and dirty her features,
all move away from her,
proximity,
what she sings,
why she smiles,
biting her lower-lips,
why she laughs wildly
and from where
she comes,
no one knows,
no one wants to know.
Daily she comes before a coffee shop,
permission already denied to her,
sits like an untouchable,
on the wet patch of earth.
And in a clay plate
the hotel boy
places before her something to eat
his face gets distorted
on watching her
covering his nose
goes he inside.
Never she asks for more ,
never the hotel boy gives further,
wakes up she smiling
from a big drum filled with water
washes the clay plate
places it somewhere in the backyards,
of the coffee shop and
returns,
talking to herself,
laughing to herself,
weeping to herself,
smiling to herself,
singing to herself,
all lullabies
dancing round and round
she plays a disappearing game.