Prerna Lama
In the still of the night
The streets were her saviour
The place to sell her wares
Her body was up for sale
Like always;
In the camouflage of night
There were many like her.
She went to her usual spot
To lure, entice and earn a quick buck.
Her red lips, curly raven hair, round hips
Ensnared; Tonight her last night on the streets
She was retiring from the scene.
The streets were dark, deep and mysterious,
She waited in her lair; A fly got caught.
They went to the bottomless woods
A terrible shot rang out,
The fly slumped bloodied and dead.
She melted in the coal blackness
The streets ate her up.
In the cacophony of the day
He woke up, the sun peeking
The rain gods pacified.
He went to the usual spot
Waiting; tick tock tick
The streets a myriad kaleidoscope
Tring tring of rickshaws
Fragrance of flowers
New day, new life; metamorphosis
She came a running, curly hair flying
The plundered loot with her.
The beginning of adventure;
Written in her rose red lips.
They fled like birds,
The streets swallowed them.