Treasure Hunt

There is a little market.
No, it doesn't open everyday,
Only when the god rests,
these little elves, in their heavy satchels,
carries, drag, roll, tumble, unload,
gems; gems of bark and ink, sometimes cardboard.

From the gate of Delhi, to the Main Mosque,
No, it doesn't decorate both sides of roads,
Only left, left only to them.
They bring their carpets, rugs, 
or sometimes sit upon bare spine of earth
and pour out their gems out, waiting for buyers.


"It's too expensive","What's bulk discount?"
"Other one is giving cheaper","Oh!! its too old"
chatters, murmurs, hustle-bustle all around,
and a few good gems do found
praising hands, and full wallets
Oh! It's all business.



Hardcover, or Paperback, these gems,
don't discriminate, that's left to us.
Some are discarded during great shelf's rearrangement
other just read and done.
Oh, but they will find someone one day
'Cause in that market, nothing change.