Lying on my bed,
wondering what to write;
With incoherent words,
and dreams losing sight.
With car alarms going off,
and distant canine screams;
I realize I’m back,
to the city from my dreams.
I grew up here in darkness,
in the city of shimmering lights;
Whoring out her beauty,
while prostituting my life.
The city which never sleeps,
or so the city-folk say;
with middle-class zombies working,
through nights as in their days.
I look out of my window,
to the moon without her stars;
While the blind walk her streets,
and politicians masks her scars.
As the monsoon begins to thunder,
on the city I love so much;
With all the pain and hunger,
she longs for my hollow touch.
And the dying gateway arches,
with memories of a monarchy it slew;
Upon her infected shores,
I sing my Bay-city blues.
By: Viraj Belgaonkar
Bombay- India
The power of your stanzas was dearly missed in the past week! I am glad to read you again!
LikeLike
haha thanks.. sorry about that.. was traveling the entire week…
LikeLike