Senseable City Poem by Mohammad Yousef

Senseable City

Rating: 3.0

By Mohammad Yousef

In the heart of the urban tapestry,
where concrete dreams pulse and thrum,
a symphony of movement unfolds,
each step a note, each wheel a rhythm,
the city breathes, alive with mobility.

Here, the streets are arteries,
veins of asphalt,
carrying the lifeblood of people,
flowing, merging, diverging,
a dance of bodies,
a ballet of bicycles,
the hum of electric whispers,
as scooters dart like fireflies,
each choice a story,
each destination a chapter.

Energy, the silent architect,
woven into the fabric of our lives,
solar panels glint like stars at noon,
wind turbines spin tales of the unseen,
while beneath our feet,
the pulse of geothermal warmth beckons,
a promise of sustainability,
the heartbeat of a world reborn.

Knowledge, the guiding light,
cradled in the palms of our hands,
data flows like a river,
mapping our desires, our needs,
an algorithm of connections,
intelligence rising from the asphalt,
green spaces bloom with purpose,
as AI whispers in the ears of planners,
crafting neighborhoods where dreams can thrive.

And in this mosaic of lives,
people emerge, vibrant, diverse,
a tapestry of stories,
woven with threads of hope and resilience,
voices blending in a chorus of unity,
each face a canvas,
each smile a bridge,
together we shape our destiny,
in a city that listens, that learns,
that embraces the art of being.

Senseable City,
where the past and future converge,
where the pulse of innovation beats,
and in every heartbeat,
we find our place,
a journey woven through time,
in the embrace of mobility,
the warmth of energy,
the wisdom of knowledge,
and the spirit of people,
we are the city,
and the city is us.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Dennis Ryan 30 August 2024

Mr. Police Proxy, Mr. Police Sycophant, the cities in your country are dirty, drug-filled, overpopulated.

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Dennis Ryan 30 August 2024

Again, misspelled title to fantasy city poem. Cities, yours, are dirty, drug-filled in your country.

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Dennis Ryan 30 August 2024

Your title to poem is misspelled, and you call yourself a poet? You are a police lackey, a police proxy who takes up space here.

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