::- The deserted stop -::
Here on the deserted bus stop I sit,
Alone;
Surrounded by beggars and thieves.
And I sit and sit for hours at stretch,
Alone,
Surrounded by beggars and thieves,
Disguissing myself of being one of them.
I succeed most times
In most of eyes
That pass the deserted stop,
For I've learnt
To stare deep through their souls,
To speak as my wit,
And to be rude sometimes.
And then as soon I dipart
Away from the deserted stop,
Am soon transformed
Into the world I belong;
The world full of actors,
Of hidden crooks and false pals
Where I too act along.
And soon am oblidged
To return again to the deserted stop.
By-Vinod
Alone;
Surrounded by beggars and thieves.
And I sit and sit for hours at stretch,
Alone,
Surrounded by beggars and thieves,
Disguissing myself of being one of them.
I succeed most times
In most of eyes
That pass the deserted stop,
For I've learnt
To stare deep through their souls,
To speak as my wit,
And to be rude sometimes.
And then as soon I dipart
Away from the deserted stop,
Am soon transformed
Into the world I belong;
The world full of actors,
Of hidden crooks and false pals
Where I too act along.
And soon am oblidged
To return again to the deserted stop.
By-Vinod
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