The City That Never Sleeps Poem by Arti Chopra

Tall, concrete, shining monstrosities
thrusting their way to the sky,
soaring, competing
with the few lonely birds,
lost, forlorn specks
that seem to know not why,
a tired sun still wearily shines through
a stained grey sky,
dirty and heavy
with the discontent of humanity,
but even though weary,
their eyes, dull and teary
with the untiring efforts
of reaching new heights

The city never sleeps

It pays no heed to
the monotonous hum
of tuneless lullabies sung by vehicles,
as they lumber noisily,
on bruised and potholed roads,
roads lit up with garish neon lights,
that seem to blind the starry eyed fortune hunters,
fresh from their villages of birth,
lazy days of laughter and mirth,
promising them
untold wealth and adventure
wrenched away from home and hearth

The nouveau riche dash about in their shiny cars
flashing obscene diamonds and ringing cellphones
blue jeans, straight hair, t shirts tight
they look like clones, armies of humanity,
poised for flight,
flight to unchartered territories, new boundaries,
clones, manufactured from the factories of

the city that never sleeps

The planes keep flying,
the trains keep rumbling,
new buildings rise,
the old are crumbling,
in the relentless race of humanity,
values and principles are stumbling,
each alley each corner,
bristling and humming with life,
whether it be day or night,
while in their rooms,
lonely and wizened
the elderly lie,
tossing and turning in stealth,
staring blankly at their tv screens
their only companions,
awaiting the release of death
while the young follow their dreams

In the city that never sleeps

and even though,
the face of humanity,
has been tarnished beyond repair,
the pain has been subdued,
the greed for success laid bare,
hope continues to burn eternal in the human breast,
man continues to labour in his burning quest,
aims for the cities, the hypnotic bright lights,
to better his lot, reach new heights,
labours, sweats out tears of blood

In the city that never sleeps

And so, it carries on,
the pulse of this city continues to beat,
steady, measured, sometimes erratic,
the pavements worn with static,
Worn with the imprints
of millions of feet,
hopeful millions,
that in crowds, congregate,
sheltered by
the clouds of hope, that permeate,
into the bustling metropolis
injecting a life giving elixir,
into the veins
of

The city that never sleeps