Sidewalks

We walk those concrete ribbons
surrounded by the electrified spires,
the endless citadels that cradle power,
each avenue of festively festooned facades,
which infuse the hour with their cosmetic allure.

But it doesn’t silence the emptiness inside
from the hollowness that lies behind
each gem of construction
that glistens in the subtle shimmer
of the artificial constellations
ever burning through the windows of their domains.

Still we stroll, vagabonds of conformity,
who wander beneath the smog rich milky sky,
where every sunrise awakes the monotonous sloth within
to rise as a predator and numb our eyes
unto the illusion this metropolis paints,
just souls left to recant our dreams,
squander our liberty to sustain our reality
amid the erosion of our hopes.

Constantly groping for some place
beyond the chaos of submission
and find a mirror we can see
not making us feel like clones and clowns.
Perhaps at last to know the cherished elation
from truth not hidden behind walls,
instead find refuge for our desire’s liberty
rather than a stellar tent we lease for so many heartbeats.