In a never sleeping metropolis
In the dungeon of a room
My days and nights are locked!
I, a traveler on a street, with no end in sight
But just the bustle of the moving crowd
And a handful of burnt dreams
My ‘kingdom’ is in the third floor
Of an old street building
Now languishing in neglect
Just like my own life
In the chronic agony of existence!
While the adjacent buildings
Renovated and restored
Mine, under a bankrupt landlord
Is on the verge of instant collapse
Looking through the chinks in the wall
And craning my neck
Over barricades of buildings
Amid the swirl of traffic
I get a glimpse of the slum below
In all its squalor and dirt
And a medley of lousy images
Bleeding into one another like water colours
Now and then, I see
Beggars in bundled rags
Along cracked pavements
Some sleeping away to glory
With street dogs
Coming to share
The leftovers in their begging bowls
And lick their wounds!
Sometimes I take away my glance
From the dismembered corpses of the dead!
On another side
In plush residential colonies
With landscaped courtyards
And cerulean swimming pools
Sentries stand on guard
To admit Sahibs
Sliding in Mercedes and Rolls Royce
A little far, in the open balconies
Of star hotels,
Men toast goblets of wine!
Oh! What stark divide! ! !
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Comments about this poem (Double Face by Valsa George )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
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