Sunday, July 12, 2009
The city dwells in extremes
No thoroughfare-everything is in neurosis,
Lying flat with the burden
Of past glorious dreams on the back.
tries to ascent-
Rocks of horrible ugliness,deformed present
Above the slums and dark hearts.
No Star,Moon,or Aura of Divinity
Inspires;but only satellites
Launched by my own conscience...
Keats's Nightingale might have died issueless
You know! here 's problem of upbringing.
Small lives with big mouths
Never let the city sleep and -
At one corner of bus stand or railway station
The abandoned cries-Good feast for the city hounds.
Thousand eyes of the city but never twinkle at night
'Shaking legs' at a club...red chums
Creep and crawl in the dark.
(matchless! white collar!! cool! Reputed men in the morning )
And fatigued -
My Imagination screams and falls
Into my own hands...Unconscious.