New roads that lead to old places-
Neat, well laid and painted.
The old is buried and razed,
Even as the stray dogs stay.
Parks of composure, offering a breather-
Yet bridges break away the trees of a hot summer.
Tall buildings with cemented wishes,
They sprout like petty street temples.
The drudgery- the laconic movement of wheels,
The cacophony of hoking and the clean white shirts.
Hoarder of hope, the city refuses to unwind-
Lest success be seen as nothing but a distant skyscraper.
Some offer a prayer, others take a spanner,
All hoping to mend the potholed roads.
In the end, the burgeoning beast spread is limbs,
Stepping on open lands and skies, who is to offer a third?
The Light Shines The Brightest
