If only I could say a minute’s worth
and somehow words will find you,
but why bemuse the air and ears
with thoughts now overdue —
But dreams, they nigh replace,
for making peace with silence,
where nothing works as well
to figments of us sentients.
Just as well then, let it be.
These steel sinews and square-shaped stones,
whose skyline view pervade with towers,
so colossal as to strain the neck and eyes below,
and yet just one of many jungles so —
And far as ecosystems go that we can choose
to live our lives in two or eighty stories,
to treat instead this lot a gilded prison cell
and not the Fertile Crescent of past glories?
The call of dinner comes as light retreats,
for most a crumb, and few a splendid feast.
Would an extra crumb suffice? How about two to assuage the steel and stone?