I was a toddler in creative writing when I tried my hands on this poem. These were the very early days of my journey through the literary arts, and I loved to make poems rhyme because: first of all, at that time I thought only good poems rhymed; and secondly, I wanted to hone my craft because rhyming is not as easy as the poem reads.
This poem is about a middle-aged woman who sold bread in a pan, carrying it on her head through my hostel on the outskirts of campus. She’d pass through in the early hours of the morning. I was a sophomore in univeristy at the time. She was loud and proud. She cried out, “The hot bread seller is in!” whenever she entered each hallway, and shouted, “The hot bread seller is going!” as she left. Then she’d move on to the next hostel and reprise her role. We really loved her bread, but one thing we couldn’t decide was what the hotness was about.
You decide.
Enjoy…
With the sunrise comes her shout
As she carries her wares about.
“The hot bread seller is in!” she’ll cry
And all will wake who want to buy.
She sends the bread from door to door
Announcing to you what’s in store.
And perhaps if she knows your name,
She’ll call it out, this noisy dame.
Sometimes the alert will be a knock
To make sure you buy what’s in stock.
A smiling face will greet you first,
Then into laughter she will burst.
Since people warm up to her face
She has friends all over the place.
This charm she uses to defeat
Others who try to compete.
For everyone prefers her bread
To those that come in her stead.
Finally, to bid farewell to all,
You’ll hear her make her usual call,
“The hot bread seller is going!”
In her pan, less bread showing.
One thing in her calls interests me;
An error that most do not see.
Tell me if you can or not:
Bread or seller, which is hot?
