Round and round we go,
Like a charade show,
Faces all around me,
Faces just like me-
Here a smiling musician,
There a brooding writer…
Sometimes a typical girl
Dreaming of future much brighter;
Sometimes a glimpse of a nationless wanderer-
Ploughing through phases and appearances-
Lost in a melee of languages and people,
In their vividly colourful existences.
A leader now,
A listener then,
A myriad of faces,
A thousand times ten-
A carousel whirling again and again.
And when it stops, and silence spreads,
All I see is myself- a cloth spun of a million threads.