The Other Side of the Taj Mahal
Face peers into the open doorway of the bus.
Back views rise to gleaming reflections of
White marble opulence of the Taj Mahal.
A gnarled hand thrust out hopefully,
Eyes muddy, liverish, deep set in a void.
A beggar casting broken-limbs and scars
To fish on faces.
Shaking heads sweat vanishing cream.
Eyes are magnets pulled towards
Guilt itches rest on a seat of comfort.
Thoughts of touching deformed flesh,
Passing coins through disinfected air to
A bottom rung where dirt scrapes off.
Sinking deeply into padded cushions,
Breathing in nostrils conditioned air,
Removed to a safe cocoon world
By the jolt of the closing doors.