WHO WILL BUY?
Who will buy?
She sits in the market besides the yellow parrot
They look at her dolefully in frightened eyes,
Her breasts are within her bones like dry leaves
She is mute as the sun sweating her ebony face,
People are circumspectly busy for price of things
Driven like vehicles so quick on their timely steps,
A boundless mystery of logic on profit and loss
Ripened words on mouth, cleaver in gestures,
I stumble over her eyes floating away in shame
She whispers “Do you want to buy the girl child?
My feet are frozen in secluded pain in heart
Poverty is the spectral of life perfect in cruelties,
Burn the belly in hunger to abandon the child
In obeisance to her milk she looks dumb,
I stand at a distance consumed in ceaseless look
Eventually a man agrees “With minimum rate”,
The mother’s breasts swings emptily for love
Drops of tears are the money she takes with her,
People are trapped in so many queries on price
The sellers know the toils of growing vegetables.
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