Coiffeuse and the Seller of Jasmines

Upon her client’s face

In fragrant rooms, she works long

They enjoy her touch

Neglect shows in that bird nest,

Her own hair a mess

Stacked upon a box,

Jasmines, jasmines here she calls

Hope in her dark eyes

Despair in her heart, hunger

Stalks, flowers unsold, night falls

In the mirror a new face,

She admires, yet impatient

This coiffeuse takes time

Those nimble fingers weaving plaits

As her beau at the door peeps

Jasmines, fragrant air

She hates oglers walking by

Her clients eye her too

A busy salon

She seats herself for a cup

And stretches her mind

Just two more to go before…

Before I wear my street shoes!

© Kanchan Bhattacharya

2013

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