The Evening Crowd

by Shamik Banerjee

Gay crowds, at evening, converge here,

they don the coat of smile and cheer;

when pairs of the light and buzz are out

in dozens, they disperse all about.

The baker kneads the whitey flour—

and skirts by him the corner store;

the florist whose blossoms are ripe,

their stations a mister with his pipe.

Their faces dazzle like the stars—

it’s mingling time; the pursuit hours.

Here teeming are happy girls and blokes;

the stews and pans are hazed by smokes.

High esprit be when eve is bright,

when morning minds are not alight;

when sweet talkings among the mobs

forgather in the great hobnobs.

From kingly statures they are not,

yet happiness, to them is brought,

from such small ways, which they endear,

that oft superb-ones fail to hear.

Shamik Banerjee is a poet and poetry reviewer from the North-Eastern belt of India. He loves taking long strolls and spending time with his family. His deep affection with solitude and poetry provides him happiness.