Dreaming
big, they all move in, much of their comfort shunned
As they join
the crowds in the city that’s always on the run
In a life
defined by just two directions in which one may roam
Many optimistic
millions have made this place their home
The
pantograph rises and touches the power line above the rake
Breathing life
into the lifeline of the city perceived to be forever awake
In the city
of money, where excess has struck like a drought
They act as
the leveler between the haves and the haves-not
Ageing,
plagued by dust and rust and a lack of breathing space
They rush
through the urban wasteland, exuding an aura of grace
Nature sends
signs that humans really do need to learn
But unperturbed
by everything else, the wheels continue to turn
Whether it’s
about the journey is just a matter of perception,
But this mundane
one is all about reaching the destination
A moment too late, and they’re escaping too fast to reach with a sprint and a
leap,
But another set of pantographs comes rolling along in the city that never sleeps
