At life's bazaar ।Written by- Md. Jasim Uddin Emon। Reciter Artist-H Imon Muzaffar

👉“At life's bazaar”🐜
✍️Written by- Md. Jasim Uddin Emon
In the evening's hush at Morokkhola 's pole,
Silhouettes linger, seeking a role,
Awaiting the beckoning call of toil,
Their dreams adorned in diligent soil.
People gather, seeking hands to hire,
Yet labouring souls face an arduous mire,
Soldiers of work, with fate undecided,
In the market, hopes and toil collided.
Some days bring bread, others starve the need,
Life's rhythm erratic, a cruel deed indeed,
Their stories whispered by the market breeze,
Struggles etched on faces, hardships to seize.
At dawn's first light, they convene once more,
Their essence bartered, hopes not yet sore,
Selling not wares, but their sweat and skill,
Their resilience unbroken, an unwavering will.
In the pole market, their worth is weighed,
Not just by coins, but dignity's shade,
Unseen heroes, in the bustling crowd,
Their spirits resilient, echoing loud.
O, the ones at Morokkhola 's pole,
Their saga unfolds, a relentless stroll,
Labouring souls, seeking a fair chance,
In life's vast market, an enduring dance.
“At life's bazaar”Part-2🐜
In twilight's veil, by market's gate,
Some souls linger, burdened fate.
They seek their bread, their toils unseen,
Yet fate's cruel jest, their hopes careen.
Toil they do, but fruits are few,
Some feast, some starve, life askew.
Their lives entwined with uncertainty's thread,
They sit each dawn, their selves they've shed.
For sale they sit, at life's bazaar,
Invisible scars, their souls do mar.
The market of life, where fortunes sway,
Their hopes and dreams, a price to pay.
Their hearts, a silent, restless sea,
Yearning for a life that's free.
Each morning's wait, a silent plea,
To break the chains and be set free.
Oh, souls for sale by life's cruel gate,
Your resilience, a testament, innate.
In shadows cast by setting suns,
Your silent battles, life outruns.
May dawn's embrace, with golden light,
Bring forth a day, both fair and bright.
Where no more souls, at market's gate,
Shall wait for fate, their lives dictate.
The poem is dedicated to my three teachers