Wound my way through remains of old cities
Through Dickensian London, down Eliot’s wastelands
Twisting now through
One timeless eye trails through,
Sits by me, and conjures
The time playing on my two sides.
I see the specter of life around.
Curious, are the dreams they sell
Painful, the innocence they sold.
Much has changed,
Since the revolutions blossomed in my alleys
To the cars stuffed in my mouth today.
Of little houses turning into shops
And of little shops brought down
Few have known the losses I suffered.
And when people are out to play, those are the days,
When rackets and cricket bats spin the lanes,
Few though.
On the rest I limp with kids rushing for classes,
Blush with girls under the glare of toweled men in balconies
Skip my rickety days to spicy music from cigarette shops.
Hush the heavy tread of women available for the night.
On the rest I live with people wanting to move out,
Live with voices mumbling, screaming,
‘Money! Money more than ever’
Sing to the eye that dreams up dead days,
Of the spices in my breath,
Of the marriages in my cleavage
Of the fun we had then.
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