The Green-Ink Pen Poem by prabhakar bhatlekar

'How much? '
Asked the old man to
OLDBOOKS shop keeper, pointing
at the book in hand.
Price was too much.
For quite long he was flipping
through the yellowed pages.
'take it or leave it'
shop keeper said curtly
brushing off his meek bargain.
Old man cursed himself
for spending on taxi.He glanced
at author's signature in
Green ink on the first page
and returned the book with a hurt.
In a crowded footpath he
pushed himself towards the bus stop.
People and people all over.
City was not like that before.
'How many of them read Novels'
he mused. Home flashed in his
mind and he decided not to rush
to that Empty, Gloomy, Lifeless...
He liked the crowd around him,
noisy traffic, bright sign boards
and crowded stores.
He felt like having a tea and
checked money in pockets.
Good enough for a tea and a bus-fare
but-unknowingly his fingers
searched again and again for the
long-lost Green ink pen.