Resurgence

Staircases of lost trails of thoughts in the ancient recesses, nooks and corners, in the half-drawn zebra-crossings, and anomalies of lives that intersect to deviate into the realms of not knowing, in the half-empty shops that sell enchantment, in the giant-bridge that overlooks a breathless flow of an uncanny water that connects parallel dreamy lands of unyielding mysteries, in those rooms of blue benches and dusts of hasty chalk-throws, or grounds of emerald bathed in a sublime light of a morning sun of my ancient days, in the scribbles that remain in the pages of my unforgiving memory, in the beats of dhak, the wilderness of my mythical joy, of colors, of countless harmonics, and the fairy-tale comeback of an endearing goddess, everytime, in the fierce flow of roaring crowd and that quaint bookstore on my favorite pavement, in farewells of people who meet perchance in the alleys of rusty, frantic mayhem before they get lost in everyday, in the forsaken poem of vivid insurgence, in smiles of conjoined thoughts, in sudden storms of noetics, in the falling for, in the collision of asteroid-like souls that collapse into a fierce, maddening story, in the growing-apart of those half-made story-pieces that flow away with the winds of merciless change, in the whimpering of thrown-away worlds, and tinkling of chimes on the window of longing----- O my lovelorn city, how are you?