Walking down the aisle I see yonder
And I wonder their story beneath those ragged clothes and dirty faces
Have their dreams been tattered or have they tattered their dreams?
Walking down the aisle I walk on the steps of giant men
Men who changed the world, men who changed how we look at the world
And I ponder upon the random and uneventful questions popping by
Have they been destined to achieve or did they achieve their destiny?
Walking down the aisle I see winners
Clean suits and hats bobbing by, nodding away at each other, good ole’ morning
And over the yonder I whisper unto myself
Are their hearts as clean as their suit over the sunshine?
Walking down the aisle I see beggars
Rattling their tipping tin mumbling away well heard jumbles into the rumbling bumble of tumbling traffic
And I sit under the “café” serving ten rupee tea with broken handles
Quizzing the facts and the fictions; have their dreams been snatched away by the karma?
Walking down the aisle I near its junction
As I walk past I gaze unto a person, aghast I ponder
Is he happy? Sad? Or angry? Or maybe a just a bit dreamy?
And he smiles back to me from the mirror asking me
“What are you doing here, in the aisle of broken dreams?”