Sunday, July 10, 2011

The City

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
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