Past Skeletons Of Steal And Concrete Poem by Gert Strydom

Past skeletons of steal and concrete
I came this morning
and saw people small like ants,
between yellow cranes groaning and bended.

Where white smoke poured from round chimneys
and people struggled in the half-light
or glowing in a hell like fire
of iron and metal
lost between ovens cooking glowing,

people where captive and caged
by walls, doors and roofs that surrounded them
and lost in the circles drawn by the city
attracted by work from rural places.

The day was cast over and grey
but still they kept on building
and cement lorries were parked in the road
while workers were clinging to black pipes.

On the other side of the road children laughed
caught by the tinned pleasure pulsating
day and night without end
and beggars waited with stretched out hands.