A quaint little bazaar
In the heart of the town
Tells a story
Of a thousand moments
Dal Bazaar as they call it
Or "Curry Market" for others who don't know.
I have fragments of memorable memories
Deep within my mind
The smell
The intoxicating smell of spices
Blended with the quiescent yet cacophonous lives
Of Merchants and Beggars
Of Buyers and Sellers
Of Bullions and a single calloused rupia
In the hands of the old *****.
The sunlight baking
Bags of turmeric.
Suspending the scent
In the minds of men.

Capering clouds of black and grey
And the sudden squall
Stirring the monotony
Of the customary.
The pirouette of rain
The one that excites the plainest of the plain
Painting the whitewash with shades of grey
The chalky walls
Dust
Moist corriander
And the relief of earth
Conciliating
So rewarding
For the ruins of the bare sun.

This flashback into my soul
Where all my senses seem to be so awake.
The feel of the wooden veranda
Scent so inexpressible
My eyes devouring the sunset
Tasting the heavens
Hearing it all.
Feeling it all.
Oh the plight of poets
The ritual to end a poem.
Painful.

But after all
The tide still shifts
Sunflowers still grow lovely
They all still talk
Seeing people and going places
They still know how to love
But their love is no longer mine
After all
Who cares about the ghost of a girl
That's been riding the train day and night
Yet all they see is an empty seat

Into the thought of our minds lies the soil of deception,
it is utterly a disgusting intravenous injection
Manipulation an deception are all around,
I felt embarrassed and put my country's flag down

I hate the way of how we tend to deceive,
and I utterly find trusting hard to believe
In lying and deceit everyone's a target,
its almost like a cash receiving market

Deception and arrogance are like a worldly and deadly disease
there is no cure which brings me to my knees
In life everything determines your fate,
so make good decisions before its all too late...