The way side inn...

There was clamor in the air,
Blurs of smoke was fogging in
I breathed in the ambience
And trotted to an empty corner.

There were umpteen calls echoing,
White dresses floating around,
The glasses seem to clatter in chorus
And forks and knives went of in tandem.

Amidst the orchestra of cutlery,
I found a desolate corner,
A neglected table cloth gave off a sigh,
A creaking chair squealed under my weight.

A glass of water with swimming ice,
Looked as solitary as the Artic,
The neglected was yet too known,
For none wanted the pure anymore.