By-Hina Firdose
As she sat, introspecting, by the riverside;
About the times, to herself she lied.
Tears on the edge of the lower eyelid,
In dilemma, to feel her rosy cheeks or to get rid.
Replaying the scenario in her mind,
She didn't realize, back then, to them, she was kind.
She was one among the 3, travelling far off.
The foreign language of the 2, made her aloof.
She insisted them on the common language the 3spoke;
They grimaced at her as though to their privacy she poked.
She set herself aside, drowned in her own thoughts;
Munching the chips, other day she bought.
She caught her moist eyes in the rear view mirror.
Too quick to pretend the dust caused the error.
Now as she recalled all of this,
She registered something she had missed.
Solitude was all that she wanted then,
She had ample of it now, compared when.
Everyone witnesses solitude at least in the year's 3quarters,
When they develop themselves physically in their headquarters.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn