The Glass Bangles
Today I saw a lady, with hair as black as raven and skin as flair as milk. I walked past her as I moved towards the ticket counter at a train station. As I watched, she lifted her h and and pushed away a strand of hair that whipped against her face as a train whooshed past. While I stood in the line, waiting for my turn I couldn’t help but stare at her as she leaned against the wall, the tinsel in her hair shining and the glass bangles on her hand tinkling. From where I stood, she looked perfect her blue sari swaying in the wind. I remember her touching the bangles on her hand; her nimble fingers running across the smooth surface of the bangles enclosed her slender wrist. As I pushed my way back to the front of the line, I turned again to catch a glimpse of this lady. I don’t know what about her caught my eye. May be it was her beauty, may be it was the peace in her eyes. From where I stood far away, I saw she wasn’t really there in the world I stood in. She had drifted away,...