Caressed By Yorkers... Poem by PARTHA SARATHI PAUL

Yes.New York never sleeps.
Neither do I. As a paved river
I pass through the heart of this ever brisk body.
I am quite wide and long and damn sleek.
Tyro tires of posh cars rub on my shiny black skin.
Some rude ones halt to screeches and I fear to have
some abrasive bruises. But I am nourished with extra
Vitamin-E. I am so used to bear with a sickening traffic.
I am so used to put up with daily cacophony. I get thrilled
with rash junky races and look on how dollars shift hands.
My eyes meet so many empty gazes of long waiting escorts.
Night has its own light what reveals under-skin darkness.
I am not allowed to lie idle or to catch a cat-sleep.
I have to stand by and back up all the unputdownable wheels.
Shiny shoes and stilettos tread on me though just for few steps.
Sky-risers on either sides clip my wings to a modest size.
I am proud that I am here though sleepless and dog-tired.
My siblings have the same fate; so crowded yet lonely.
But I have to keep a stoned face like a callous or a heartless.
No prob. Let the heads go high trampling on my slumped state.