Language Barrier

Flickering neon lights.
Cacophony on the road.
Bargaining ladies.
Honking horns.
Stalls that sell tomatoes in the light of bulbs covered with red gelatin paper to make red tomatoes more red.

Fake tomatoes as if people weren't fake enough.

I am lost.

Silent afternoons.
Sunlight through leaves.
Chattering groups in formal clothes.
Dustbin full of coffee cups and empty packets of Marlboro Lights.
Deep talks of shallow people.

I am lost.

Raggedy emotions.
Opportunistic flings.
Handicapped imaginations.
Insipid conversations.
Timeserving friendships.

I am lost.

Misfit like a broken piece of a jigsaw puzzle.
Nomad stuck in an alien land.

People jeer, laugh, throw curious glances.
I even overheard a couple of them referring me as crackpot the other day.

I shout across the thin glass; in the language not known to the people here.

In The Ugly Duckling's language.
In The Lost Ugly Duckling's language.

They don't get it.