Hustle-bustle
Shimmering artificial lights
Ear deafening music
I know no one and recognize noone
Homes or just houses! What are they really like?
Who lives inside these?
Inside, languid bodies striving to live
Carrying on with their pseudo life and
Pretentious relationships
Relations that are rotting and stinking
Yet, going together and preserved for the reason unknown
Time running faster than the clock
Love- existence unknown
Hate- no nook or corner spared
Rivalries, jealousies into each artery and vein
Into the main stream
Human being full of acridity and no humanity left
A feeling of abstractness
Vacant atmosphere, killing silence
Each person lost in an oblivion
Trying to go beyond the everyday schedule
What remains in everyone now is
Nothing but evil
Trying to unleash itself with each given chance
Evil is the ultimate now
A dangerous obsession or a possession
What is the end of all this?
I ask myself
Maybe some goodness – a last value
Lying in the city junkyard
Waiting for the pickup by some kind soul
And be a part of us sometime...
Copyright © 2006, Bindu Borle
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is a mechanical city life what we live everyday. Man has become a machine in every city. For this man machine life is there, but no time to enjoy or think of it. Nice poem depicting this picture.