On the streets, trams and metro trains,
They bend their heads to whisper.
Their eyes are like shuttered windows,
Their hair is the colour of tea.
Their liquorice allsort clothes.
Are the garlands of Hindu deities,
Their faces – closed books –hold secrets
Of voices ringing out over forests,
Of rivers wide as seas.
© Rose Francis 2014
Picture credit: Gennadii Gogoliuk (Wisdom of the Night)