Slab City
Out in the desert, dry and wide,
There’s a place where people hide.
No rules, no rent, no locked-up gates,
Just open skies and empty plates.
Homes are built from scraps and sand,
Painted bright by careful hand.
Words of crime and dreams untold,
On walls that crack from heat and cold.
Some come to stay, some come to go,
Some criminals just want to lay low.
In the silence, guitarrists' songs still play,
At end of day, under the Milky Way.
Life is hard, the sun beats down,
Water’s rare, no nearby town.
Freedom hums like a demon's hymn,
In this place of dust and sin.
If you want to live life free,
Come and see what you could be.
In Slab City, strange and wild,
Where the earth is fierce—for criminals mild.
Copyright © Shashwath Manjunath | Year Posted 2025
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