Face of the City
(This is the image of a semi urban city of India)
The glow of a late Autumn Sunset,
Gleams over the dense city streets.
Rushing wheels and honking horns,
Halt awhile for the traffic signs.
Through the rows of rushing motors,
Men on bikes plough their way.
They squish and squeeze through every gap,
Caring a naught for the traffic rules.
With jarring siren, the Ambulance van,
Speeds past for emergency aid.
The patient inside, in writhing pain,
Lies stressed on every hurdle raced.
Ladies holding children in hands,
And people bent with growing age,
Remain planted at the zebra cross,
Waiting to move to the opposite side.
As the tired people back from work,
Hurry away to reach their homes,
The jovial band in easeful mood,
Treads towards the city parks.
Fortune tellers with their Tarot cards,
Hold their clients in great suspense,
The street hawkers on tiled pavements,
Squat beside their cheap merchandise.
Scores of men who tread on foot,
Grow to Hundreds in a short awhile,
These are folks right from the show,
The Block buster has drawn hoards of men.
When young Dandies in tawdry dress,
Dally round with their ladies love,
Street urchins in tattered clothes,
Go searching in the garbage pile.
While decrepit old beggars lie drowsy,
On the cement benches in wayside shelters,
The affluent Sahibs in plush restaurants,
Feast on their cocktail dinners.
The city thus with its motley crowd,
Paints life in contrast shades,
For Fortune, with her alluring charms,
Favours a few and leaves the rest.
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