Urban Poem by Nissim Ezekiel
Urban
The hills are always far away.
He knows the broken roads, and moves
In circles tracked within his head.
Before he wakes and has his say,
The river which he claims he loves
Is dry, and all the winds lie dead.
At dawn he never sees the skies
Which, silently, are born again.
Nor feels the shadows of the night
Recline their fingers on his eyes.
He welcomes neither sun nor rain.
His landscape has no depth or height.
The city like a passion burns.
He dreams of morning walks, alone,
And floating on a wave of sand.
But still his mind its traffic turns
Away from beach and tree and stone
To kindred clamour close at hand.
The city like a passion burns. He dreams of morning walks, alone, And floating on a wave of sand. great poem. very fine perceptions and expressions. tony
Broken roads! ! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
A poem exploring the bad impact of rampant, mindless urbanization and industrialization of our space which houses the populated exodus and congested city space clamouring for natural greenery and vegetation, gasping for breath and fresh vision and sunlight rarely explained elsewhere. Urbanizing our space, where have we reached ultimately? The dry river, silent nature, what are they telling about?
Beautiful poem. Congratulations! Now exposed to this page will return to read more. Thank you PoemHunter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 5:31:45 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Is there line wise explanations for urban and critical appreciation of it available