A Portrait

Standing in the train
in a space just worth two small feet
the handle bar is high up
everyone’s found solace
in phone screens.

I’m teetering and lurking
doing what the voyeur does best.

Across my unsteady frame
two sharp eyes
on a face wrapped up in silk
peep unabashedly
into my life.

The voyeur is being watched
with unmatched curiosity.

Her look is steady
composed as a matter of practice
but her face is alive
with currents scarcely
in one’s notice.

In a conflict of gazes
boundaries begin to dissolve.

Piercing eyes alarm the unselfconscious
design of my body:
carefully clung on clothes
perfumed with an air
of indifference.

Imagination advances to touch
the darkness done up in kohl.

My portrait in her eyes
the voyeur in disguise -
what a colourful sham
living in non belief and paying
for lies.