Melancholic skies

This weather is the worst.

It makes people sick!

Sometimes, like a cold blanket

And sometimes, like an over-fed fire place.

 

This city isn’t Hawaii

Covered by warm, clear skies

With the sound of waves rushing

Into the lands,

 

We hear,

Large noise of motorbikes,

The swarm of office-going bees,

And the occasional azaan in the air.

 

But the large buildings

Rusting into time

Have cast long shadows

Into eternity.

 

Enough, have you taunted me,

Walk out of the cloudy skies!

And shine forth your glamourous shine

I am a poor boy in lack of Vitamin D.

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My comrades are silent!

Brothel-like,

white eyes of Bellagio Suites

stare into the crisp shadows hiding me–

forming from men hanging their day’s spent

on parallel lines of black cable wires

their now drenched, detergent smelling jerseys

leaves puddles on hot terraces.

 

While, I stand

Smell of coffee wafting

the yellow lights yellower than a jaundice patient

brighten more than the neighbor;s dusty car

I feel breezy

and hear caressing. Like waves falling one on top of other.

forming a effervescent froth on the top; a taste of saline

Fish pickled in vinegar.

 

But honestly, these silent beings,

made of flesh and concrete

steel and blood

stand uncomplaining

to my constant chatter

only speaking among the shadows

their long bodies cast.

 

But when I look,

far and wide;

a city far away

with far less people

with nevertheless, a million lights.