Shopping in the Peshawar Bazaar
Shadows rush through the old city
Greetings from brass peddlers- ah salaam alikum…
Too early, we wait by the chapatti-maker's tent,
Search through the faceless silhouettes
Then in the near distance, the Tonga horn blasts its warning;
We gather our booty and take off running.
Through the bazaar, past the fruit stalls,
Sandaled feet crunching on loose gravel,
Exhausted hearts pounding
We dash towards the horn's blaring cacophony
Huffing and puffing, we yell wait at the Tonga driver,
His sagging nag gives a welcome whinny, just for us-
We smile, welcome words filling our mouths,
The wagon moves on, hooves clicking on cobblestones
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