A crowded hall.
All push and rush and impatience.
She hesitates to step in.
To elbow her way to the counter
And wriggle through bodies to the stairs.
And argue for her seat inside.
She knows nobody.
She longs for the friendly arm.
The familiar voice.
Someone.
For when she steps inside
She fears not losing them,
But losing herself.
3 comments:
dude prefect....its very well put...really commectable...n touching...ur a nice poet man...n sorry for the unauthorised addition of ur blog to mine....
who is so audacious as to call you 'dude'? you rather suavely take things that are real and everyday and turn em into something unreal and very personal... as if it's something only you have felt. and without making the reader feel like an intruder. well done... dood indeed.
dude. or dude.
ah, well.
thanks, i suppose.
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