The World Is A Market Poem by Tony Adah

I was passing through a large
Village market and I saw an array
Of wares and human races
Blacks, Mongols, Caucasians and all

I met some with wares
On their padded heads, smiling
And others with empty heads crying
Some have sold their wares
The others no one had asked
What they had in stock.

The market arena is a rowdy place
Where happiness competes with melancholy
I have seen some men going
Even without a dime in their pouches
Still they will spot the market place
And return home
Even those who bought
And those who sold will never
Remain in the market
Every one must return home.