Ten Minutes
Her ten minutes sneaked
Through the hole of iron needle
In the hand of the cobbler,
Who sat like a spider
At a nook of the city.
She was broken on the chappals;
‘Wait’, word stumbled over the rum stink.
Passers by give her tribute
With their glances; and the beauty
Blushed with the hot sun.
She stooped her proud head,
Which swung intermittently
Towards the east and west,
To check if some acquaintance
Was dropping a belittling eye.
For Miss Seena is rich and noble,
But with a little money.
poem by Fabiyas M V
Added by Poetry Lover
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