My City Sleeps

My city rests, 

in the shade of colourful, bright, shimmery fairy lights, 

Ornamenting it’s attire

on evenings witnessing 

Men’s tired shoulders,

and women’s prostrated backs, 

Boys’ muddy feet,

and girls’ worn our hair. 

These evenings are deponents 

to grizzles of babies

and whimpers of the old. 

My city reposes,

with it’s womb carrying a burden 

Of females smelling of tyrannies,

males stinking of pride;

Of girls and boys running to let their feet out of the boxes demanding servitude. 

My city lounges, 

with graveyards screaming out for life,

And the living craving death. 

With tassels of stitches and rags of decorated smiles, 

my city pauses 

Letting under it’s blankets

the naps of poor laughing in torments,

And the slumbers of rich, 

crying of discomfort. 

With mornings serving efforts to gather bread,

and afternoons taking all the calm away,

My city lazes it’s scrutiny,

under nights calling out for peace. 

Wearing a gown 

with glitters and pearls 

Shining of terror and penury,

my city hopefully sleeps,

Silently,

taking within itself,

Tiny patches of smiles and procurement...