The city moves, like the rhythm of her chest,
Inhale, exhale,
Fingers tap as finger snaps fill the rests,
Crackles like static of sharp shocks,
Dark drops and lights sparkle from the sequins on her dress,
The beat goes on and on, hips moving in time to the song,
Cos she never sleeps,
her arms open wide to those who seek,
Refuge inside of her anonymity,
In proximity to residents of gutter and stars,
It’s evident, she sees the precedence of the heart,
Above the whine of cars,
Her breath hangs soft, like the smog,
over streets and boulevards,
But in the fog she stands statuesque,
Despite the grime, that covers her from, leg to neck,
She shines, in the midst of the madness,
As tears of rain kiss cheeks I look on in gladness.
Her eyes reflect the sun,
Her lips speak words of wisdom,
She’s my home from home,
The city with a billion children.
Upon a hill observe her skyline,
When you have the time,
From the outside looking in its like she’s prophesying,
Speaking to civilians, about resilience,
Reconstructing wreckages into beautiful buildings
Her skyscrapers look down on us like lost papers
Blowing in the wind drowning in exhaust vapours,
It all tapers off at the end of the roads,
Cos near the pier, is where the big picture unfolds,
When we see small, its cos we cant see all,
Run a round the circumference, her sea wall,
The scenery serene, fallback into her city,
It’s grimy and gritty, yet shiny and shimmery,
The eye of the beholder told her she’s pretty,
Well of course she is, we’re orphan kids in her orphanage,
The stadium of her heart, has a retractable ceiling,
Look up to the stars to see how she’s feeling
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