Angela Poem by Om Chawla

One morning in the balcony of my opposite house,
Only the previous day which had been occupied,
A lady in flimsy pink 'kaftan' attired,
Paced leisurely from one end to the other,
Spring time's morning breeze she savored.
Occasionally strong gust of wind would blow,
When contours of her sculpted figure would show
And beneath the body hugging fluttering flimsy robe
Curves of her firm breast conspicuously showed.
Soon she became centre of every one's attention,
Every one cast an adoring look on the sly
She observed every one from the corner of her eye.
She savored the attention and felt prised
Poise she maintained and shunned pride.

Often a limousine would come to carry her
To a school of art where as a model would she pose.
Undressed and nude would she array shifting stances,
When emerging artists would draw her sketches;
Each interpreting her figure from a different angle.
Going beyond the figure some attempted to capture
The emotion behind the external veneer.
Only rarely would she look at some sketch
But when she chose to see that would invariably be the best.
She was endowed with an eye, keenly observant
The artists envied her discernment.
Conscious of her beauty and grace that she possessed
With her dignity no one dared to mess.
Soon after modelling assignment would she vanish
Informal loose talk she thus banished.

On the evening of the day she modelled
A glass full of wine would she take,
And sitting in the balcony in the midst of flowers
Sip the wine leisurely and spend hours,
Pensively reflecting on that day's sojourn,
Or may be on her life that had been wronged.
Hours would slip by before she realised
That it was already past midnight,
The time to wish good bye and good night.
Yes, good night to whom? ....to herself!
Good bye sweet heart! Angela, good night.
And tears would swell in her eyes.

Days weeks and months thus slipped by
No one ever knocked at her door,
Though everyone yearned to acquaint her
They desisted overawed by her demeanour

Unusual as it seemed, one morning
Angela did not appear in the balcony.
Three days passed yet the balcony remained deserted
Though behind the curtains life remained active.
On the fourth day a strange thing happened.
An envelop brought me tidings
Unsought for and unwarranted;
As the schools close for the summer vacations
A certain girl of the age of thirteen
Would come home from the hostel,
When she [Angela] may not be there;
It would kind of me to take her in my care
As she could not trust any other.
There were details besides
- of what to manage and why.
Bewildered I wondered: unknown and unacquainted
How such a trust could I have kindled.
Was it the look of my trusting eyes,
That transfused trust in unfamiliar eyes.

Sometime thereafter arrived a young bubbly girl
And as the door of that lady's flat did not open
She came running as though she was pre informed.
Soon a crowd gathered and broke open the door.
There on the bed lay Angela
-'The lady of the balcony'
As she had come to be known.
Attired in her flimsy pink 'kaftan' there she lay,
Tranquility writ large on her placid face,
Though it had turned bluish grey.