No pitter-patter of rain on her roof
Silent morning welcomes, ray of sun in her room
She carries macrocosm of dreams in her mind
Wandering thoughts beguile until destroying her divine
Covered herself with blanket of solitary
Momentary lapse into reality leaves her blurry
The city marches with trumpets and toil
On road billboards and crazy traffic fills her void
In home a wreck she moves herself in a coil
Rampage of her beating heart no one can see
Deafened sound of morning birds no one can feel
Trepidation and Machines take over the man
Billboard and Crazy Traffic are the only storytellers to fill her void
An Indian Princess 