Fresh Air
The air there is fresh from
Sun-on-cement-baked humidity
no hint of dust, fumes and those clouds
of grey matter and reddish clouds from sites
Men labour with only thin plastic - morning cool to
Noon unbearable hell - to shelter beneath
The air there is fresh from
carbon exhaled from millions of
bustling hustling workers and from the
weary sighs of vehicles and machinery
that choke on coal and sputter smog
Grey amidst winter skies
Where has the blue gone? asks
a child clinging to her phone - a
false branded knock-off of luxury -
She dreams of pure cotton clouds
dotting the brightest blue the skies offer.
Wakes to another dull day
The air there is fresh like morning dew
Leaves betray not a single shade but green
evergreen, no dressing up for coming winter
The wind is warm, no cold that
creeps like corpses come alive and hug you
so tightly you scarcely breathe and still you wrap
a bolt of thick wool about your neck, choking
on what little warmth it offers your measly body
The air there is fresh from
the smell that permeates cities and urbanisation
we are rats running circles for reasons unknown to
Us but we don’t get off; to get off is to see eyes
staring glaring judging mocking gossiping
We breath in that same air used by others
Again and again and again
We breathe the air the machines eat and cough out
Again and again and again
toxin of the nagging and scolding,
smoke from fired employees burning alit
stinking depression from the ruined
decay’s odour from the dead in white walls
Again and again and again
The air there is fresh.
To sip upon it is like the finest dish, soup, meal
To stay there is like a hopeless bliss
Still I let myself dream
Dream of fresh air.
* let me know of any grammar or vocab mistakes
** will update once inspiration hits me
