Urban by Nissim Ezekiel

Nissim Ezekiel


Urban by Nissim Ezekiel

The hills are always far away

He knows the broken roads, and moves

In circles tracked within his head.

Before he wakes and has his say.

The river which he claims he loves

Is dry, and all the winds lie dead.


    At dawn he never sees the skies

Which, silently, are born again.

Nor feels the shadow of the night

Recline their fingers on his eyes.

He welcomes neither sun nor rain.

His landscape has no depth or height.


   The city like a passion burns.

He dreams of morning walks, alone,

And floating on a wave of sand.

 But still his mind its traffic turns

Away from beach and tree and stone

To kindred clamor close at hand.

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