Valsa George

The glow of a late Autumn Sunset,
Gleamed over the dense city streets.
Rushing wheels and honking horns,
Halted awhile for the traffic signs.

Through the rows of rushing motors,
Men on bikes ploughed their way.
They squished and squeezed through every gap,
Caring a naught for the traffic rules.

With jarring siren, the Ambulance jeep,
Speeded past for Emergency aid.
The patient inside, in writhing pain,
Lay stressed on every hurdle raced.

Ladies holding children in hands,
And people bent with growing age,
Remained planted at the zebra cross,
Waiting to move to the opposite side.

As the tired people back from work,
Hurried away to reach their homes,
The jovial band in easeful mood,
Treaded towards the city parks.

Fortune tellers with their Tarot cards,
Held their clients in great suspense,
The street hawkers on tiled pavements,
Squatted beside their cheap merchandise.

Scores of men who treaded on foot,
Grew to Hundreds in a short awhile,
These were folks right from the show,
The Block buster had drawn hoards of men.

When young Dandies in tawdry dress,
Dallied round with their ladies love,
Street urchins in tattered clothes,
Went searching in the garbage pile.

While decrepit old beggars lay drowsy,
On the cement benches in wayside shelters,
The affluent Sahibs in plush restaurants,
Feasted 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.