The City That Never Stops

The city that never stops..

It moves on thousands of wheels;

Speaks in millions of sounds.

It carries tankers of oil

Loaded with tears and greased by the sweat of a million hands.

The night is a few hours of nightmares and alarms

That tells you that though the darkness still prevails

You have to get up and be on your toes.

The city moves

To the rhythm of the wheels of trains

With swollen limbs and the body wrapped in bandages of gauze

The blood still oozing from the wounds, a day old and not yet healed.

The city will build no monuments.

Her children have no time to look up

From picking up the rags and bones—the souvenirs of misery.

Her history is being scripted by millions of survivors

Who transcribe the letters the unknown postman delivers in their hands.

They spend a lifetime trying to read

In the brief respite they have from their toil,

Reading between the lines

Whatever that makes sense.

They cannot restore the lost narratives of their own past;

 They cannot find the missing links.

A dusty film settles over all

And each new day plays false

To all the hopes and dreams.

The city is a faithful mistress,

Content to live in the hind-quarters

Of squalor and patient love.

The night never comes with silent steps.

Thousands of demons march to its song and the city lies crushed and maimed

Under the nails of their shoes.

Tomorrow will be yet another day.

The fumes of venomous garbage will cover the sky and challenge the sun.

The sun-rays filtering through the thick mask of treachery

Will desperately reach the tottering body.

The city will be grateful for the gift of life.

The city rises to the call of the dawn,

Resilient, new-born, awakened, but hardly aware,

The city will roll again

And go back to fill up the pages of the scroll of the history

That time will erase again.