Introvert In a Corner

Pencil in hand
NO ideas in mind
She is made to sit
Like a half bottle of vine

Monday morning
Or any other day
Cause she is her name
She is a fragile part of sane.

She is scared
To see
what everybody’s up to
Introvert’s dance
When company’s their style

But, cause she is her name,
She sits like a half bottle of vine.

In a little Corner
One side wall
One windowed
Everything’s blinding

Till, ofcourse they come for their demands
So,
She sits in little corner
And acts like a call centre

But, even in those little
Her loved ones show up
They kiss her
They let her dance
They let her wear her chance

They let her
They let her
They let her,
She is in demand.

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