Diyaa Waits For Me
Beyond the markets
Of old Calcutta
Where the narrow streets
Weave and wind
Past the old men
With their little pipes puffing
And old woman whispering stories
Diyaa waits for me to come
And she smiles
Her delicate hands
Tugging lightly on my wrist
Lead me through the streets
Past the fallen cherries
And crushed oranges
That lie gathering flies
Like a Sheppard gathers sheep
To a table she’s prepared
Of spice teas and jellies
She offers everything
Including herself to me
And though I cannot
Give her the love she wants
She takes what I can give
As though it was
The most wondrous gift
As though it was
A blessing
Though her world
Is still filled with misfortune
And her days
Sometimes filled with sorrow
And though
All the champions of Calcutta
Have fled far beyond its borders
There's fire in her silhouette
With eyes that fill the darkness
Looking for hope
Looking for me
As she smiles
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