Bazaar

BAZAAR Can you call it a bazaar Where only one vendor Her face strained 'Looks' pale, apprehensive As if caught in a snakes' chamber Yet searching for a potential customer Desperate to sell products unheard of Of human species, bizarre more bizarre The seller in her early thirties Skinny as an empty nylon bag Frail as a TB patient Seemingly double her age and malnourished Sat at the small town's big square Shrilling in the loudest of her voice 'On sale' 'on sale' One is my son another daughter The female child is only three sirs Please don't turn your faces I request Don't think that she's worth not sale Within two years she can show her conquest I guarantee at five She can lay your table At seven wash dishes Two years later can take your kids to school Then with a jolt in her throat In one hand raising the three years' face The other pointed towards the sky The seller laboured to utter some words I swear you can run a brothel Oh! profit-loss Madams and Sirs With lot much profit and market demand Can't you see how glamorous her face! Two drops of tear evaporated In the scorching and cruel sun Just after they inadvertently fell In spite of emotion being tried to shun Like her alcoholic and savage husband Her hopes were torn into pieces of waste Dreams shattered trusts broken Rifts not repairable by a paste It made the seller again cautious She thought the tear might act as mace Thinking to sell and engaging her saree's pallu Furtively wiped the wet eyes and face What it takes for a living Mobile phones internet Or just face book likes Surely not for me Because I don't have food, clothes And a house as basic needs Take this boy I don't expect from you Any exemplary parenthood By your kindness sirs At least we can get some food We may not call this square a bazaar As a hawker, there's only a single seller But what if we combine altogether The squares of poverty, immiseration Deprivation destitution and major calamities The brunt who bear.