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.
Powerful,poignant,and heart-felt.
thank you so much dear sir for your encouragement. stay blessed.
it is ever the hallmark of a true Poet that their work holds up a mirror to the everyday vicissitudes that we as people encounter in society.
humbled dear sir for your words of love and encouragement. stay blessed.
Indeed, an engaging piece of work.
humbled dear mam, stay blessed.