On an orange summer afternoon I met you;
Then a stranger to the city, I was, when you found me
Among all the scrambling silhouettes you beheld.
Naysayers might call it luck, but certainly
I am not optimistic enough to call it fate.
I was intoxicated on others dreams,
While you were one getting acquainted with regret.
At the city square, where eternally the hypnotised fret,
I inadvertently pretended to be different;
And pity, you were desperate enough to believe
That for you this deranged soul was meant.

With those glittering black eyes you enchanted me,
Your young skinny hand reached out,
Covered in dust, it was yellow; glowing bright
In the red swan-song of the fading daylight.
I was compelled to stop; possessed by your sight
I waited, for I was certain you would speak.
But no innocent voice emerged from thin bruised lips;
No begging for help; food or alms you did not seek.
Your silence blared among the bedlam around us.

You stood beside me and your hand - the magic wand
Though dilapidated, did still manage to possess.
Alas, I was hesitant in my response, kept observing you
For what was, quite evidently, too long a time.
And then the moment was gone; you withdrew.
Some other hypnotised being passed us by,
Perhaps for you, she ostensibly had a less unsure gait.
And off running you went behind her;
As I watched you follow yet another bait.