Working-day Morning

When the first sunlight hits the corners of the big cities where people stay and live, are they really aware of where they are?

It is seven in the morning now

But the city is fast asleep

The blackened veins of the city are still empty

Only the daily wage earners are seen

Scantily in number

Cobbling the shoe of the city

Working under the fairy dust

To bring about the glamorous illusions of the city

When it wakes from its slumber

These little unseen people work like elves

Their faces deigned to be seen by the city people

Yet their labor wanted

To keep the old parts of the city 

From falling apart into ruins

The mood is melancholy

The bright sunlight of the summer morning

Breaks out into the empty squares

Like an impending fog of doom; of disaster

 

The old brick-walled ruins of the city still exist

They hold fast the old customs

And the traditionalism of the cosmopolitan

 

Smoke emanates from a cigarette burnt

By a stranger sitting on a bench

With no one to talk to; his eyes dart

Through the infinitesimal parts held together

By the notion of development, in one whole unit

Maybe he sees through this farce.

Reviews

[Norman 223]

I like the descriptive flow of language, which has a Gestalt like effect. You sow the seed of an image in each line that creates an"incident" which then adds and builds a moving picture the bustle and aspirations of a city and its people.
Impressive writing, Kamran with a convincing " storyline."

Norman

[Cara B]

Definitely creates images in my head.
I think when you can create an image from reading that it must be good.
Very descriptive.