each morning
she slips in a side door.
only i notice her.
circumstances make me 
a willing accomplice.

hungry people roam streets
everywhere
in this world.
in picture post card
London, they
haunt train stations,
Bobbies herd them up from underground:

in hotel restaurant
she stands,
still,
statue-like, mindful
not to disturb
the thick European air;
India beauty,
battered,
too far from home
to be hungry in strange lands.

English, American, French, German
tourists breakfast
at the Ibis.
they have European eyes.
they do not see her.
they stare.
they pretend they do not see me.

through white shadows
only i notice
she has dance-dared-
dared-to-dance
about the buffet now.
our eyes meet.
tray in hand
she makes her way to my table.
invisible.
we both
eat.

                  
                 Hotel Ibis,
                 London