missing those late nights,
driving around the city.

missing being in the middle of a traffic jam while raining, the way those raindrops create subtle noise above the car's roof which brings comfort along with the radio.

missing the feeling of sleeping inside the car, but disappointment wakes you up when you feel a familiar turn, knowing you're already home.

missing everything that is associated with adventure, because being in a stagnant shelter will never be the same.

If God was your neighbour in a village,
you would have exchanged pleasantries,
would have know by the look in his face whether he had lunch or not. His eyes would have told you if he needed a shoulder to cry. In the city in a flat if he was your neighbour would have met him in the corridor or lift occasionally giving and receiving a meaningless smile. If that's gods story just imagine the rest.

....

She always wondered  
      how it'd be                                Free
to wander alone
                             .....
someplace

beckons                               
                        ­                    far afield
                  Life;

                                       ­       ....
Liberation calls.
        gotta go places,
                   solivagant
                                                    ­    Free
without curfew  
               day or night.

         ....
                                 Metropolis

Sidewalks
              Cafés                    ....
    Cinema                            
                     ­                       

  fleeting vistas                      skyline
      through blurred                       
 windshields
  
                    Cosmopolitan
                               ­        dream

to those who not born an aristocrat,
what it means to be a human-being?
a terrible exhaustion - result of attrition
soulless slave - six days a week
is there any other alternative, though
I cannot outstare the bill faces
rent will due soon
endless presentations
pointless meetings
118,000 unread emails
week long business trips
"bare minimum to get by" prohibited
I have lunch delivered
snacks delivered
dinner delivered
I have all the food inside my office
and a beautiful apartment facing the sea
with the sun rays peeking in through the blinds each morning
but I'm just too busy
hopelessly hoarding pennies
hopefully saving enough joy for the future
they say your hardwork will come into frution
repeating cycles of entire career till retirement?

I am a girl
a girl from the city
I am loud and noise
I speak my mind

You are a boy
a boy from town
you are quite and calm
you hide your mind

So I spoke my mind
and you weren't afraid
you spoke back
I was the one surprised

and since that day
you were the one
and you may be the boy
the boy from town

and since that day
I found the one
and I may be the girl
the girl from the city

bur right now
there is no  you and me
there is no city or town
there is just us

The last rays of sunlight were purple
on the day the last fat cat died.
     From the street corners
     we saw them chasing
               their tails,
                        bailing water
          that was rising high.

                    It could never
                      last forever,
               whatever they said--
        --Could we ever have prepared
                     for that Fall?
                Call the Springtime.
          No Rewind of Our Discontent.
                  Meant to seize this
          while their machines stalled.

Look alive. Stay with me...

I wanna be there
          when the missiles drop.
Wanna be there when the pavement cracks
and scoop up the last embers of this city
          while you hold my hand.
I wanna be there
          when illusions fail.
Wanna be there when their smirks turn sour.
When the last of all the fat cats starves.
When they see the passing of their hour.

Look alive. Stay with me...

The last rays of sunlight were splitting
off Their glass towers' cracking panes.
     From the bus stops we
     saw them--their faces
               went grey,
                        flailing Dollars
          could not pad their pains.

                     It could never
                      hold forever,
               this Center they bought.
             But they never did prepare
                        for the end.
                Call the Springtime.
          No Rewind of Our Discontent.
                  Meant to shout it
               but the message sent.

Look alive. Stay with me...

I wanna be there
          when the pavement cracks.
Wanna be there when logistics fail.
And two-step on the cinders of this **** heap
           while the masters wail.
I wanna be there
           when their money burns.
Wanna be there when their neckties squeeze.
When the last of all their bonds will merge
When the fat cats die upon their knees.

Wanna be there when the missiles drop
And scoop up the last embers of this city
               while you hold my hand.

                         Look alive...

Car horns slice through the air,
congestion gathers on the roads
making murky smoky trails

There sits a man

whom bears heavy weight;
shrouded, in dark clothing and mystery
Bearded, diligent and wise

Alan is his name

A Scouser if I'd ever seen one,
always happy and yet never alarmed
by the noises and pollution around him

This, is his home

I see him everyday when I pass,
come rain or shine, hail or wind
He sits, diligently and acute
with a paper cup in hand

Living in the open city

He shows that life can be unpredictable,
yet freedom cannot be contained
We've chatted, him and I
He says the institutions can't keep him down

They're out for money and control

This is his freedom, his way of life
to do what whatever he pleases
Tent ready, trolly in possession
Without fear, without order
without rules

Not knowing what the next day may bring