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Ms Noma 1h
I fall in love with cities
Only in the night
That’s when they look so pretty
With all that twinkling light

I fall in love with cities
Only when it’s silent
No movement or a stir
And nothing is a blur

I fall in love with cities
When I’m the only one
That’s walking down the street
After rush hour is done

I fall in love with cities
If I let my mind soak in
Its spirit and its essence
That permeates my skin
Edward Coles Feb 2017
The distant park
Was a graveyard of dead stars.
Each streetlight a system of worlds,
So many lives between each mote of light,
Indistinguishable in their unique love,
Bespoke hate, and the drama of the modern age.

Drunk laughter behind transparent
Double doors. Another hotel balcony,
Another cloud behind the canopy
Of marijuana eyes
To unsettle me from the crowd.

She points out, when you look closely
You can see the disorder
Amongst all constellations
Of life and love and litter;
Of discarded Coke cans
And temporary highs.

She says this is not a scene
To imbue the opiate of a present mind,
More to baulk at the incompletion
Of one thousand to-do lists;
A million reasons why
You should just stay inside.

She says you can see the human swell
Of ignorance, our city lights
Blotting out the stars
In a black ocean of broken politic
And irretrievable fault lines-
Divisions between us all.
Lives twisted with professional smiles
And eyes lit with stunning indifference.

Still, I have felt charity and warmth
On the doorstep of lunatics and fascists.
I have read the love of life
In faces of those who gave up.
I have recounted countless artists
Who saw beauty
In moments that precisely lacked it.

I have spent too many nights
In anaesthesia,
Fleeing each instance of feeling
And terror; all the tremors
That tell me I am still alive.

Continued to stare at the lights
Long after her voice
And the laughter inside had gone.

Heard waves in the traffic.
A world so large, so expansive,
It can never truly sleep.
Every broken heart,
Every war-torn land,
Every promotion,
Every one-night stand.

I wonder what would happen
If we all stood still.
If we all took one moment
To observe the motion
That unfolds beneath
Our static windowsill.

If we all took one moment
To recover our loss.
The wars that we won,
The feelings, forgot.
The hell we retain;
Our paradise, lost.
Ek Shehar hai mere yaaro ka,
Yaha har koi deewana hai,
Yaha har koi parwana hai,
Lamhe jiye jaate hai yaha,
Lamhe piye jaate hai yaha,
Jitne fasle hai ek duje se,
Utni hi nazdikiyan bhi,
Har ek ki apni duniya jarur hai,
Magar wo duniya ek duje se juda nahi,
Har din ek naya din hai yaha,
Har din ek nayi chunauti hai yaha,
Log izzat dikhate nahi,
Izzat karte hai yaha,
Pal me rootey hai yaha,
Pal me hastey hai waha,
Befikar mauj me rahte hai sabhi,
Baat dilo ki kahte hai sabhi,
Yun toh bahut kuch unkaha bhi hai yaha,
Magar ankhon se toh bayan kar hi dete hai,
Dastan-e-takleef aur dastan-e-mohabbat,
Aur ek khasiyat hai iss shehar ki,
Khanna yaha beshumaar hai,
Log khaate aur khilate hai dil khol kar,
Khoobsurati rooh me dikhti hai yaha,
Musafir aate hai iss shehar me,
Aur tham jaate hai yaha,
Yaha ke ho kar reh jaate hai,
Aur jab aata hai waqt shehar se jaane ka,
Toh maano paav yeh aage badhte hi nahi, kisike….
To my best friends
Oh beautiful wonder, how terribly i’ll miss you,
You taught me to love in the colour blue,
With your endless brush-stroked seas,
And skies blended with azure hues.
I’ve fallen in love with your scent that trails  along sculpted roads
Even your dark corners, that I’d never dare to tread
You’ve latched on to my heart by every last thread

Oh beautiful people, how terribly I’ll miss you
You with your melodic voices, and hands of gold
Your language flowing through the wind,
pulling my heartstrings with every word.
And your welcoming faces, laced with a stunning smile.

Oh beautiful city how terribly I’ll miss you,
You with your crowded streets and busy nights.
Your nocturnal nature alive with your city lights,
bright lights that steal my every gaze,
And your laughter that will forever ring in my ear.  

Oh beautiful wonder, only for you
I’ll have to leave my love here
For it is all yours, and one day when I fall in love with another place
My heart will pull me back to you
For it it still says your name.
She wanders out the door to the city streets
Smelling of cheap perfume
Around the corner streets of town
In search of something.
By noon,
She felt low.
Her mind was gone.
Sadness had sat on her blatantly.
Literally, it sat on her little stubbed heart
It was like
She was only very high or very low.

But she had to stay.
Withstanding madness with herself,
Yanking, twisting, jerking,
When she saw madness running towards her
She would run,
stumbling and stubbing her left pinkie
She got up again,
And Faulkner's voice came to her
to endure isn't enough,
She will triumph
On June evenings,
she won't kiss the world goodbye.

She wanders out the door to the city streets,  
Smelling of cheap perfume.
Inspired by Sylvia Plath's Mad Girl's Love Song
city ​​lights for some reason
in the last time they have me
and snow so often swirl
before my eyes eternal
and all the time they say their own
strange and confusing questions
questions all eternal questions
on which there will be no
no replies of the existing

city ​​lights as urban
cabinets and how not cabinets and how books
and how everything in this world is ours
light is only light and differences
was never in this world
we are white color wandering in white
color and perhaps it will always be so
everything eternal is always eternal and
eternal is always that is not
will end in this world never

The April morning's quiet
and so is the November.
Wherever people outnumber trees
or the dominant cover type
is unquiet. Nothing wrong with that.
Walt got it right, and Jane Jacobs:
the city is an experienced,
used beauty. Her toes are long,
nails thick and hair thin. Yet
her kisses can be sweet; or
smell of shit. All my life I've tried to point my window toward
some narrow wedge of nature.
On Seaman Ave., over the roof
beyond the chimney to the park
where every dog was walked.
Could I survive soot and an air shaft now, pigeons and cats,
or even a desk in the legislature for my lot in life. How about
prison like Etheridge Knight,
Nazim Hikmet?
I've gotten soft.
When he builds that house in the pocket
wetland my window now looks out on,
the developer will have given me what I need.
Amphibian mortality,
gravel, fill,
oak, ash and maples felled. Good
to the last drop is our bitterness, our love.
How are we allowed to grow
When our silences are spread thin,
Our cheeks forever touched
By strangers on trains.
When our eyes are glued to
The girl crying in the bathroom,
And a child following
His mother carefully along the crowded street.

How are we allowed to grow
With the shouts from parties next door
Break down the bedroom walls,
When that boy who you used to be friends with
Walked down the other side of the street
And you hope he doesn’t see you,
When the man starts yelling obscenities
From the corner of the park
And you want to believe his words.

How are we allowed to grow
With all of the pain,
With our brief glimpses of joy,
With our arms outstretched for a better future,
With our minds stunted in the past.

How are we supposed to grow
When our very bones are torn apart
By questions we can never answer.
duncan Sep 8
bodies for my shrapnel
lay limp on the street
like dogs in the summer time.
i will bring my storm to you.
have faith in my punch,
believe it.

but don’t you trust
a survivor.
they wouldnt know
how to leave a city in wake.
they wouldnt know not to
pull the knife out.

i am a hurricane with skin
and i will
rip your house in half
if i have time to catch a glimpse.

you can pack your bags
and flee but
i dont stay gone.
i live on forever,
i dont die easy.
the toll will raise.
i havent had internet for awhile so im posting a few that have been building up
The pine trees I call home
Hold me when I am alone
Keep me warm
And hide me from the evils of city life
I wander through
Brushing my hand on the bark
They take me to far away lands
Like the vagrant lark.
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