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Same Streets

Komal Bhowsinka

The drooping shoulders, the run down arms.
The brown suit man, his bold jewel toned shirt.
The uncanny looks, the pride in his eyes.
The elderly with his dog, out for a walk.
The pale looks, with bombarded memories in her mind,
The lady with her giggling two year old in the arms.
The smell of cigarettes and loud voices,
The people next to the tea stall.
Just as I pass a familiar face,
And I smile.
I walk this street, not once but twice.
Everyday.
This is now normal, and this is all real.
There were those time I looked at the stranger pass by
And always gave a warm smile.
It was reciprocated most times.
Nothing is the same now,
All we got are the eyes,
and even before I couldn’t express,
Not the grief nor the joy.
All I get anxious about now,
The misunderstood expressions under the masks.
Not the street light shine overlooking the street,
Nor the burning sun bright after the dark night
Nothing seems to bring it all back.
The strange connection I once had,
With people I had no information about.
Yet a smile from them,
Gave me strength.
And now these streets,
The frame still the same,
Yet feels like an new place all over again.


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