Market Story

The market is buzzing with vendors,

People shopping street side,

Candy floss sellers, paper windmills and flower sellers,

Everything and everyone has found a place here,

Along with spicy, tangy, flavourful food.

When the breeze blows and something itches my eye,

It's not dust because this stings,

Burning like chillies,

And I cannot see,

I cannot walk,

I am in tears in seconds,

And you, who were walking just by my side,

Are now, way too ahead of me.

I call you, but the sound from the puppet show is too loud.

Yet, you turn around and see me missing,

And rush by my side holding my eye,

Slowly blowing cool air,

And finding water to wash it,

I don't know why I am writing this,

It's just someone taking care of me,

But maybe this is why I'm writing it,

Because no one has ever cared for me.