Indunil Madhusankha writes

The City

 The reedy rattle of wallowing machines 

 thundering in spacious factories 

 The labyrinth of roads, convoluted 

 Hungry bulldozers wolfing mountainous lands 

 Torrential quarrel of vehicles 

 rolling, reeling, plunging and circling 

 in the whirlpool of traffic jam 

 The honking of horns and the clangour of
 iron blocks, 

 repeating relentlessly 

 Everywhere the giant concrete edifices 

 twinkling with miscellaneous adornments 

 Ladies and gentlemen with their little ones 

 haunting every nook and corner
 In two or three trees, almost dried, 

 and remaining uncut beside the road,
 the leaves had gone the darkest grey in colour 

 and were dotted with black specks 

 Hidden dangers ominously lurking everywhere 

 in this maze
 The city swollen with slurs, worsening, 

 Slurs of what?
 They are beyond comprehension 

 The very comprehension muddling at the 

 spurious radiance of gilding filigree


 


 Dirty Landscape -- Andrey Malykh