How would I describe my city? It's dead yet alive,
"A zombie city" is the perfect phrase, this greed and hatred make them survive;
How would I describe this antipathy? Sickness or miracle?
Here people buy vanity, and humanity they sell.
Often somebody visits my city with his elysian selcouth thoughts,
Awakens those who are in slumber to tell them their faults,
But people of my city laugh at him and sniggle in his nous;
One by one they devour every pious thought from his mind,
And left him like them, dead yet alive.
YOU ARE READING
lutalica [2018]
PoetryLutalica, (n) the part of your identity that doesn't fit into categories. Only word that perfectly defines me. Here, I am presenting a tapestry of poetry that I embroidered with the thread of metaphor.
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