Bombay
Bombay
In your bosom I wake up with fear,
In your sky there’s only unending tears,
You always roar, but within,
Hangs silence like a shroud of death.
You are rocked, periodically, by bombs,
Yet, people go about their business,
As if nothing happened, all’s well,
Are they too dazed to protest?
In your hungry, convoluted entrails,
Lies pauper and millionaire,
Separated only by the whimsy,
Of your very partial caress.
On your skyline of sooty chimneys,
Decaying concrete, bristling antennas,
Are the sad stories of fortunes,
Made and lost, just as lost loves.
City of gold, they say, which never sleeps,
Will you stay awake, tonight,
Wipe away our cascading tears,
And give our tired bodies some sleep?
In your bosom I wake up with fear,
In your sky there’s only unending tears,
You always roar, but within,
Hangs silence like a shroud of death.
You are rocked, periodically, by bombs,
Yet, people go about their business,
As if nothing happened, all’s well,
Are they too dazed to protest?
In your hungry, convoluted entrails,
Lies pauper and millionaire,
Separated only by the whimsy,
Of your very partial caress.
On your skyline of sooty chimneys,
Decaying concrete, bristling antennas,
Are the sad stories of fortunes,
Made and lost, just as lost loves.
City of gold, they say, which never sleeps,
Will you stay awake, tonight,
Wipe away our cascading tears,
And give our tired bodies some sleep?
Labels: poetry
Selected by Unknown |
10:02 |
1 Comments:
What can pauper or prince do?
Both have bellies to be filled.
We can be afraid,
But we're also hungry.
She can protect us,
or she can feed us,
mother Mumbai is just a mother.
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