Bazaar

Pals stride a few miles, she follows them

Through the lanes and by-lanes of bazaar

Spirited shops all at display

Of their finest masks and hoods

They pick a few and wear with aplomb

She gazes at new strangers so close

All smiling cold but sulking deep

Steaming pots curdling simper

Those sans mask wander alone

Through the highways of desert

Spreading affection and silken red strings

Soon to be lost in maze picking up veils

To breathe and live, to walk a few steps

Through the lanes and by-lanes of bazaar