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Pradip Chattopadhyay
Poems
Feb 2016
At the Market
When the day was dying
I was back to the market.
The last time I was there
haggled with her over the price.
She wanted to sell high
I wanted to buy low.
You win
she said at last
I bought high
but have to sell low
.
I knew she was lying.
This time she wasn't there.
Someone said
her man had left for another woman
and she hadn't since been seen.
The deepening evening hung like a dagger of pain.
She was never good at bargain.
Written by
Pradip Chattopadhyay
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