Sleep bags under the eyes,
strides weakened by lack of proper rest,
Running, running, groggy, stressed, sluggish,
a repressed soul crowded by tired,
uninspired, repressed souls with crushed aspirations,
lack of sleep, time and money alike;
souls lured in by the initial charms of the city
now toil under pressure,
sacrificing sleep for work
and health for meagre pleasures.
A city that never sleeps,
now runs on lost dreams
and unkept promises,
selling the lives of its ten thousands of inhabitants who crawl through tiny spaces between cars, bikes, traffic, unclean roads-
many lived with childlike wonder before the city swallowed them whole;
now they merely survive.
Some do find their place here,
fitting perfectly in the space between knitted eyebrows,
forehead creases,
living comfortably stacked inside grown nails,
having made homes in ear holes and nose holes,
gripping on hair scalp, sheltered by thinning hair.
I wish the city won't go days without sleep,
instead find time to lay down the weight of its world from its fatigued shoulders,
slow down its pace with conscious control,
look inward, for instance,
at smoke rising out from motors of moving machines that transport tired souls from one terrible corner of the city to another,
at roads that look like horribly managed marketplaces playing dual roles for lack of footpaths,
at clogged drainages,
unmoving traffic,
smelly sewage systems,
streets and lanes lined by apartments and shops congesting each other, grappling for space;
the tale of a withering city.
Dear Bangalore ,
I wish you slept more often,
I hope you heal from scars and bruises left by all the unnerving souls you sheltered,
I hope you breathe good air,
turn grey to green-
I wish you life.
Pc: Simon Berger, Pinterest
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