to whom who sat there...

Last evening, when I was about to wind up for the day...
Leaving my unburnt fags on the silver ashtray glistening under the light...
And through the glass window took a pre-departure customary look on the street outside...
I saw her...
She...
Wearing a dress so flambouyant...
Sparkling ear-drops...
Brownish lip stick...
Colored hair silk...
Pinned up elegantly opening her beautiful neck-adorned by a gold chain...
Only...
Her eyes were not keeping with the tune of the place...and her dress...
She looked absent
As if far away from the street eatery-joint...
So uppish...
So full...with people of the city...busy people spending lazy hours talking
So much of life!
Only...
Her posture was down...
Her eyes kept fixed on her nails manicured...
She was thinking something...
Her eyebrows revealed her fixed mind...on her nails...on her thoughts...

I felt the coins dropping on the salver somewhere...
I heard someone calling his girlfriend, lying blatant...
I heard the soft words of passion flowing nearby...
Only...
She sat there...
Looking at her fingernails red!
And I...
thinking of the street outside...
On the other side of the glass window...
Flowing so indifferently...
Flowing like a favoured song perhaps...