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Is a street having a market in it. Different appearance of people, gender and age. Everyone moving about there various businesses.
It makes me feel sober, makes me reflect on the daily struggles of life, trying to make ends meet and life like the market place, must close with time.
Life is a hustle and bustle,
A dream of reality,
Playing out in the eyes,
And mind of the dreamer.
From the rise of the yoke-like sun,
To the setting of the scarlet fire ball,
The living bubbles with the works of survival.
With the cry of the beauty in the cradle,
The stampede of the motherly arms,
To the rush of the seeking feet,
By and by,
Their struggles ticks with time.
Tik,
Tok,
Life rides on,
Astride the little hand of the clock,
That ticks it off the fingers of numbers.
The noise from the streets,
The calls of the seller,
And the plea of the buyer,
Tells of the hard bargains of life,
Through dry or showers.
What jokes life plays on us,
Funny behind tears,
Joy within sorrow,
Bitterness embedded in sweet,
And light interlocked with darkness.
Everything under the sun,
Says the motto of seville,
Yet it sometimes lack the peace,
The joy of the little child,
Grasping the hand of it parent,
And threading through the market with glee.
Everyday is a struggle,
Like the effort of the hatching chick,
Everyday for survival,
Like the threat of the gliding hawk.
By and by,
They said time will tell,
If the bustle of the market,
May get the quietness of the peaceful,
And attain a honour,
Like elysium.