Standing on the overpass
i stop to look away
the endless stream of cars
sprinting from under my feet
dusky yellowish lights
start to illuminate the night
the city is beautiful at this time
yes it sure is
as the autumn winds blow
coolness grows
the heart feels barren
for no reason though
stars in the sky
twinkle once in a while
each one is an unknown dream
each one is too far away
a drop of rain fell from thereabouts
i saw it so i reach out
it touches my cheek
slips out of the corner of my eye
then in a trice
It floods the cityscape.

My shoes **** as I trudge down a seamlessly cemented road. The floor, only slightly lighter than the colour Black. Launching into the wide road where the sky more daringly shows itself, the sun, too, exhibits its colour hue. I can see the reflection of orange in you. The sound of cars are not evident but they exist. The traffic light goes green and the rhythm of its beeping escalates in what seems like less than its promised seconds. 5 steps into the humble gantry I have reached Yomiuriland Station. I buy my morning beverage for 100¥. I think of nothing in that repeated moment while fixing my eyes on the orange-reflected clock.

Tokio desu, wearing a dress
Feel like a mess, making a mess
Wearing a dress, I was the best

i want to go back to tokyo,
somehow the city always feels like home, even when
i’m always a foreigner;
a touristy tourist with a camera on my hand,
snapping polaroids and selfies with a thousand filters
layered on top of each other,
to enunciate the beauty of the city and at the same time,
reinforce my place as a touristy tourist.

i want to go back to tokyo,
to feel the night breeze kissing my face,
or the scorching daylight next to the vending machine that sets my soul
ablaze;
hot and cold, cold and hot,
i don’t know whether to take my jacket or leave it at the bnb
but i know how cold i’d be,
at night when the sun’s asleep,
and i should be too, if i weren’t too busy loving tokyo.

Black ties, collar shirts, a sea of black hair.
All operate the same, nothing is rare.

A heap of bleak faces,
holding briefcases.

Forming thoughts like a system software.

nothing will be sold today. the rain comes and
no one will see the neon signs in the mist.
the cities of steel and glass
are merely sandcastles at high tide.
helplessness, our human nature.

still, no worries,
in the minds of children, soothed by
their mother's sing-song,
or strangers sharing their first meal –
yi is cooking ramen for everybody,
while the finnish girl just finished her story
about her grandfather and his eleven siblings.
it's a beautiful day.

Trick or treating in tokyo
Better watch out for
Them yakuzas
As you enjoy collecting Canda
And go for a relaxing
Walk in the night.

The big city blurs

what is dark, with lots of light --


Is heaven like that?

Even Tokyo
could never come between us
after all this time

11:39 PM
19/6/19

discovered on my search today
how murakami and itoi
wrote short stories together
in nineteeneightysomething
and daydreamed of the corners
in tokyo i might never see
again all while amazed and longing
for someplace nifty to myself