In the lap of luxury, sitting in the lobby at Revlon,
waiting for a friend to come back.
Looking around seeing there are square tubes hanging
from the ceiling, fulfilling requirements for lights.
Pink and maroon carpet lying over cold marble with
planters, couches and chairs set carefully upon it.
People walking back and forth, stopping to talk to
the lady at a switchboard behind the desk.
Carefully, eyes scrutinizing every passer-by, allowing
a smile only when recognized.
Enjoying this time to sit and write at a table they have
by the window, thoughts piling up, waiting their turn to
be put down on paper.
A good state of mind, waiting peacefully in a corner, thinking to create some babies with ink and paper.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sitting behind a desk for controlling the lights of a place of enjoyment provides many opportunities of watching lovely and interesting scenes, if the lady controlling the switches is a poetess she remains engaged in waiting beautiful thoughts that are the basic need of an outcome in the shape of a lovely poem, as her job gives her sufficient time she can put her thoughts in black and white, and if she is a poetess like RoseAnn the paper becomes a rainbow for a reader like me.