On a Sunday Haat

O

On a Sunday haat

I’ve seen a girl

Sixteen or so,

Selling vegetables,

With a wow child on her lap,

Scrambling for breasts.  

The girl dithers,

And fears the male eyes,

They aren’t her suitors,

All busy gentle clients,

Time is money,

And not a minute more they spare.

So what’s the choice?

Some faces are known,

And many strange,

A festival day she calculates,

And looks sideways,

 And tears asunder the door of subsistence.

Beginning days were hard,

She was shy, and timid,

And knew not the ways of the bazaar,           

Day by day,

She counts coins,

And becomes bold.

So she wars with the lusty gazes,

 And thumps her baby

Under her sari,

And the child gropes and scrabbles

And sucks her mother,

And she flashes.

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About Sid

Abu Siddik is an Assistant Professor in English at Plassey College, Nadia,West Bengal. He is a bilingual author, editor, critic, poet, and storyteller and has been published in India and abroad. He has three critical books: Representation of the Marginalized in Indian Writings in English (Falakata College Cell, 2015), Misfit Parents in Faulkner’s Select Texts (Authorspress, 2015), Banglar Musolman (Sopan, 2018), and two books of poems: Whispering Echoes (Authorspress, 2020), Rugged Terrain (Authorspress, 2020). For more please visit him at www.abusiddik.com

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