When a furious craving for a skyscraper
Finds an odorous shanty,
And the frosty desire awaiting your warmth
Makes way to a formal ping in my Messenger:
Understand that we could have been the sea,
But only ended up as the sand gritting
Somewhere lost in my eyes.
For the city lies scrambled,
Half its alphabets lost.
We could have built an asphalt tower from the remnant dust
But remained forgotten, as fallen leaves
Picking up after the longings of strangers,
Busily treading their ways back.
