Two men sit atop wooden chairs,
eating in a fancy restaurant,
the candle on the tiny table
illuminates their countenance;
the petite man in brown suit appears to grumble
— maybe, he is the worthless worker,
the other man in blue coat
sipping his aperitif,
his face contorts with suspicion
— maybe, he is the disappointed manager.
A few minutes later, behold the wicked glares
— maybe, they are muggers,
‘beware, the guests of that famed restaurant,’
I roll down the windows of my car and holler,
but no one seems to hear.
The petite man’s face suddenly
exhibits a picture of despair
— maybe, he is almost insolvent,
the other man with a french beard,
maybe, he is the nasty bank manager.
Did you see the way he tapped his hand on the table,
I thought, who was a miserable sufferer
— maybe, he is the famous detective
whose name I never knew or can’t remember,
the other man now sits like a crinkled paper
— maybe, his doubts were sadly confirmed
when he ran his hand through his hair,
suddenly conscious of his appearance.
I swim in a pool of thoughts
as I watch two strangers, who gripped my eyes,
soaked in the colour of my inquisitive perception.
About the Poet
Surbhi Thukral is a new mother of a 4-month-old beautiful boy. She has named him Ayaan; it means gift of God. Apart from being a doting mother, she writes fiction and poetry. Her work has been published in various anthologies, magazines and journals.
