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What’s about the marketplace around us?
It’s a place where charity meets chaos
A dwelling for the good and not-so-bad
Whence all of life’s characters enter in unclad

I admire the buyers, especially those who scowl and trot
They are the supposed kings of the market lot
But when they hold pride as a light
Then they, the customers, would not always be right

Watch out for the sellers as they haggle
True kings of the stalls, they seem only to babble
Yet, with a silent show of craftiness
They can outsmart customers in their loftiness

Sweat drains from the load porters, often with a frown
These are people who refuse to be bowed down
They showcase strength as a forte:
“I am strong, challenges are not”

My empathy reaches out to the maimed and the beggary
For life’s cruel blow floors them – seems like treachery
And as though all is lost
A human touch is all that is needed to shake off their dust

Of tales I hear, the marketplace playing host to agents of the spirit land
Enthroned, are those with a diabolic hand
It’s often a story of scary sunsets better kept at bay
When the shades come out to play

Evening appears and the land, in darkness, is submerged
All must return to the abode whence they emerged
Life’s creatures will, after all their toil or leisure
Give account to their Creator in full measure

Luke O. Ogar

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