A monster’s heart is beating it alive
This city’s stench and bile is still aglow.
And you and I are dregs of mindless dust
Just wafting thoughts that pass, and are forgot.
“City of Gold”, they say with silver eyes
Gold – for rich and poor and middle class
Gold – to film, to sing, to act, to sell.
Gold – beneath the monsoon’s weary roof
Gold – among forgotten shanty cracks
Gold – embalmed in casks of broken bones
Gold – still owed to prowling, hungry hawks
Who nest too high and cannot see the ground.
In this parade I find myself spectating
My bag chock-full of dreams and hopes in waiting.