five thirty pm at the Delhi airport

the orb smiles
pale and paling
its gaze scans walls
covering floor to ceiling

this, is that glass palace
where they all eagerly arrive
to throw away their gift, time so callous
where impatience and idleness thrive

soon, the angels will call
names strange and names familiar
soon, this wait will come to a stall
and in a different place, they’ll reappear

in flying chariots, they’ll leave
carried on the gilded wings that gleam
and those left behind will weave
moments, memories, mellifluous dreams


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