Sunday, April 07, 2013

7/30 This is...

This is…
This is not a poem dedicated to the sky or the colour of the ocean.   
Nor is it a poem about aerial displays of an eagle 
or the wind brushing the flowery collar of a blouse. 
This is a poem about grey, grey walls, 
concrete grey, grey lives and the incessant screams of phones. 
This is a poem about gaping bins spewing rubbish 
and consuming the consumed. This is a poem about raising glasses 
to toast achievements and making speeches about speeches. 
This is a poem about life minus trees and gardens 
a poem where we walk far on treadmills going nowhere.

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