A Walk In The Bazaar

By Rohtash

Sun, barely out of bed;

The street, lined with shops

like a corridor of a shopping mall.

A boy too small for school

walks every day with his grandpa

to the milkman’s shop.

They walk slowly but deliberately –

The boy tippy-toeing;

The old man barely picks up his feet.

Sometimes a trinket in some shop

catches the boy’s eyes, and he points, 

unsure of what to do

about the light swirling inside.

And the old man nods

acknowledging the thought.

They move on.

I see beautiful women go by

and sometimes a sombre look

locks into mine. And we both know.

But for this secret, there are no words.

Only failed attempts at beauty by poets.

Only beautiful poems about loss by gypsies.

I turn toward the shops.

The road keeps the secret.

By Rohtash