Poetry on Medium
The City
A reality that hits my soul every day
Published in
1 min readFeb 6, 2024
I lie in the shackles of the concrete city.
A city shrouded by misty veils.
Where no one feels tired and hungry
and smiles eternal sleep are asleep.
Every morning comes with the smell of leaves
and I rush to the window to smell it.
But the leaves — lit by the cleanliness company,
are throwing skinny bodies on the paving stones.
The lungs are fading from the latest smog,
looming like a canopy in the city chambers.
So I want with a single leap,
to escape the stuffy vipers.
But it’s too late, and if I’ve survived
the smoky embrace of public transport,
once I’ve survived the battle against time,
I need no further comfort.
