Heartbeats Of A City

Serving as the roots to my people, I stand alone today.

The littered streets and broken bridges make me rubble.

Everything changes with time,

it makes me question, have I changed for the better?

My sky does not wear blue anymore,

and the seasons have crossed borders.

The green fields I so adored have lost the last blades of grass,

that you loved to run on, in the mornings.

I have slowly started to degenerate, losing you in the crowd

until one day I saw you fly out to the land of opportunities.

Do I look good from the bird’s eye?

The diary of a nostalgic describes it as if I wore jewellery.

I have been painted with political hues for democracy’s sake,

yet I have always remained apolitical,

feeling colorful when you welcomed your Goddess with open arms,

or when your 'Iftar' dinners transcended religions.

The empty book store’s sunlight beckons you to smell it

in the pages of its old classic.

Sometimes in the evenings, from under the bridge that epitomizes me

I let out a deep sigh that escapes in the cacophony of a traffic signal.

I realize my imperfections and my face is blotched. I cry.

I believe life prevails, no matter how strong the desire to kill,

I care for the sod that grows, I love the rain that drenched me

and I smile at an old friend from a distant land

when they come visit me.

I bind traditions and the revolutions,

the smell of tea in an earthen pot and the art on the coffee.

As you grew up, so did I, our strings are attached.

I smell of your blood, sweat, tears and smile.

I still bask in the old sun, strong as ever,

knowing my story will always be told

glittered by words, immortalized in time.