Reluctant handshakes,
their too-polite smiles,
carefully measured out , tensed distance between bodies.
She rubbed her skin against their pretensions,
layers of modesty lied scattered on the floor.
Her eyes were too sharp for their liking,
her night sojourns disturbing.
The smell of vodka and cigarette in her breath
penetrated their exclusive dominions.
She had teared away their egotistic skin-
charred yesterdays fell down from her burning tongue.
That’s when they started worshiping her.
Standing beside her-
their reflections revealed
distorted self-images.
In their quivering voice, they chanted
‘she is different from the rest’.
They saw, but refused to believe-
that she had crowded the streets
smiling, strolling, chatting, eating,
screaming, fighting, drinking
singing and dancing in the rain,
she had exploded into a myriad of hues and
had left the mark of her lips
all around.
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