I used to write
But I failed,
Because my words weren't  sharp enough,
Or sweet enough,
Or shiny enough.
I used to write
But they were just words,
Without any layering of emotions.

So I decided,
I'll take a hooded stroll,
Right through the marketplace,
And learn what I lacked,
Stall by stall.

The Lover was the richest of them all,
A grand, colourful stall-
And each new fruit
Had a taste unbitten,
Smitten
Was I,
As I could not decide
What to buy,
For I could afford only one,
Either the passionate or platonic.
But the Lover had an offer going,
Buy 1 passionate with 2 platonic free!
He would even bargain with the parental,
But his most expensive fruit was self-love –
The only forbidden fruit,
That aversed me without any taste.
I bought some, I won't tell you which,
But it tasted as lovely as what my favourite would be.

I moved ahead in the marketplace.

A darkly built hut was mastered by Suspicion,
Saw some people buy gift-wrapped worry,
And buy some house decor coloured in envy,
Wind chimes made of disgust,
And wall paints in all-colour-fears available.
I bought both some of it myself too,
Cheapest of the trickes and trinklets,
Lasting days longer than me.

A very curious little stall,
Sold curiosity by personality.
They weighed me in imagination,
And gave me half my worth,
With a dash of adventure for free.
I couldn't pinpoint,
Who helmed that wooden joint,
But I didn't mind,
For I knew I would be back for more,
With a renewed thirst like a cat.

Another well furnished shop,
Titled H&S,
Sold entities
In equal weigths of
Both happy and sad.
With an exemplary policy of
'No Exchange
No Bargain
No Return',
Just have equals of two,
In weights you can carry back home.
I shopped there too,
But I used some of it on my way home,
Finding the box with happiness almost half empty,
And saddness-
not even a meagre amount less.

At the exit,
A poor little fellow,
In ragged clothes and desperate eyes,
Just laid next to a free pile of anxiety,
All of it for the free society,
Daring anyone mighty.
Some did take some away,
Left some of their expensive goods
On his ever frayed matted space,
Just because they ought to have
A good sold for free.

I spent a lot,
But I earned as I learnt –
The only market that thrived,
Was where emotions are sold,
No surprise.

And I used the emotions I bought,
No shame in admitting that,
To feel all at once,
Once and for all,
And conjure them up in my writing someway,
Hoping someday
I may write again.

~~~

A/N:

A little bit of Free Verse  today, although  it's not  my favourite type, I could  not come up with something  better at the last  minute. I'll  try better with it next time.