The soul of the city

The smog blinds me obstructing my vision.
Yet, I gaze at the sky,
I see it in pain.
It speaks of no promise, it has got a dampened soul.
I look for it's reflections,
The lone writer struggles over his typewriter,
His cigarettes reduce his hopes into ashes.
And the air captures his whispers,
"How do I let her go?", he scribbles for the third time.
The creased bedsheets by his window speaks of her lingering presence.
He smells her in each inch of his skin,
Yet, why does the city not leave him at ease!
He looks at the lanes, devoid of hope
He lights another smoke, pulls in puff of despair
He was rotting in that city which had lost it's soul.
I pull my hair together and hum a tune,
I think and I rethink until my thought overpowers.
I stand on the lanes leading to his home,
I look at him parched by his window.
And I free him from his past afflictions,
I free him from her lingering smell,
I free him from his tormented thoughts,
For I, I carry the soul of the city.
Do you see me?

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Swings of a rhapsodic mind

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