Published February 5, 2018 by sidmary

O City,

Rushing, running on your way

With loud and boisterous sounds, 

Stopping nowhere, no matter the time…
You are static

From high above. 

A constellation of twinkling lights

And slow moving torches

In complete silence. 
All rooftops are the same.

All roads are mere winding lines. 

There are no people. 

And year after year 

There are only structures erected

At some height from the ground-

Marks and stains of human life.
They are right who say that 

“Things change from high above.”

Life slows and sounds cease to be. 
And hush now, O City, proud and wide: 

You are but a slow moving 

Near static constellation.

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