(Once, I was watching the poor porters in Sunday Market who were walking behind the rich and privileged watching them buy things that they could not even dream of. And the rich who were only concerned with their existence as far as they were behind carrying the load. I bet, they would not even remember the poor child’s face if they turn their head to them the second time. Below is a message to all those wanderers of Sunday Bazaar. )
We maintain strutting gait being ignorant
We sustain comforting bait being dormant
Ignorant we are of realities
Dormant we are beyond boundaries
But there’s a world, to most, a fiction
Destitute in worldly damnation
Do ‘THEY’ or we live in third dimension?
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