Market Day
Today I feel like I’m inside a well
that no one’s looked down in ten years.
And around and just outside the well,
it’s Market Day
The voices and the sounds, they reach me,
blurring into each other and not discernible.
It’s not noise, it isn’t sense either
but it is painful nostalgia, of what life used to sound like,
Of a time and place
when it could be heard,
heard and understood
Of just such a lifetime
There are bees in the sky and a butterfly or two
Stirred by the ruckus that’s Market Day
Even if they seem to be dancing
To the voices, and they are
I see a coin soar arc through the circle above
chink wall, brick, spplasssh water
Market Day at the wishing well
But no one looks to see where the coin fell
Nice one! good imagery.
.-= Deependra´s last blog ..What’s your dream? =-.
1. awesome poem
i loved it!!!!!!! -Avani
2. Avani, my daughter, age 14, read it while I was reading your post in my reader – I also agree with her – beautiful imagery! -Arati
@Brad: Take a bow, A.E.
@Avani, Arati: Thank you so much! I’ll treasure this comment all my life!
The voices, the sounds,
And the coins that jingle.
Mix and mingle
Like there were no bounds.
One fine day, the sounds became noises
Muting the flies and even the bee
That’s when they said- It’s time to flee
And that was the last of the Market Day.
He then dove into another hell
Wishing for the noise to end
And now he sits flicking a coin
Calling it his very own private well.
True, the world out there
Walks on and on
In their private hells of well
It’s an unseen Market Day.
Step out the well now or
Flick me in to another hell.
I am the coin that used to be
But now, just a piece of metal to thee.
life goes on …
.-= anon´s last blog ..Market Day =-.