in the evening,
Past the piles of bricks
and through the thick populace
where the wheels take over
and the shouts and horns resound.
I think of Wordsworth's evening walk
and of emotions recollected in tranquility.
But what have I to describe,
and what have I to recollect?
Is it the noise or the smoke,
Or the filth and the garbage?
Or should I create a chronicle,
On creatures on the verge of extinction?
And then the sky begins to sprinkle
I feast on that moment of pleasure.
Silently wishing for more or so,
To erase the brutal scars of time,
To make the earth whole again.
|Picture source: Google images|