Hot and humid haze clouds spectacles,

A hollow blue canvas stretches above;

While on the busy thoroughfare,

Green trees lie asphyxiated,

By the smoke from droning vehicles.

There is so much stench and smog,

Imagination ruined by man-made fog,

Dust, dirt, grime, filth and stench,

Mixed with red spits everywhere,

Like an artwork on Hell's blog.

The rush hour is unending here,

The people are always busy;

Lost in a quest of making the most,

Of everything that means money,

Luxuries have become necessity!

I want to breathe unpolluted air,

And spend some time with sweet jasmine,

I want to adore chrysanthemums,

And walk among cherry blossoms,

But nobody here happens to care!

Not long ago, when I was much younger,

Under the mango tree would I sit,

That tree marked a big park here:

And when it was noon, a form fairest,

Would come and spread her rippling laughter.

Now that park is not to be seen,

Someone has chopped down the mango tree;

And man's craze for worldly allures,

Has deprived many of sanity:

My fairest no longer endears the scene.

How can I soar into the sky's caress,

Far and above this modern world?

I have no magic carpet to fly,

Nor Pegasus to rescue me...

Is there any way out of this strange duress?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Composed on the afternoon of June the 17th 2008 in Karachi, Pakistan. REVISED on July 14, 2008.

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palewingedpoetess's picture

This reads like a man caught in two worlds one that is lost to him but for his memories and the actual world he lives in. That is why wise men say it is not wise to live in the past. Like dancing with a corpse, such a waltz would seem pointless. It was a beautifully written poem though and so descriptive, I could put myself in that place you described and see those things you showed the reader. Your talent could easily leap like a rabbit over that mentioned Mango tree. The beauty you are able to show in perceived as ugly scenes, mirrors the depth and insight of your own soul's passage through this world. Now, go back and look at those places again and see the beauty that is there as well beyond the obvious stark ugly images that are all too familiar to man's every day scenes. For just below the surface of anything real there in lies the true beauty's seal. It could be something so simple as say a child's unexpected smile or an old toothless woman's laugh or maybe even a man stopping to pick up a piece of fruit a young mother dropped from her grocery bag. Beauty is in the smallest details. For its when we look with eyes of beauty we find some vestige of beauty ah but when we look with eyes of sadness or anger or regret we only see those aspects of what we are actually looking at. Sad as you were still when I looked at you I saw gentleness and best of all Hope. That should tell you a lot about the strength and ability of my eye sight! The world always is what we make of it. That is why we poets are so important to the world. We are the beings that bridge the gap between what there once was and what remains. I stand encouraged from just my knowing know who......... so why type it? laughs.......