New York,-- barren city, devoid of color.
Gusting winds holler
At pedestrians crossing the zebra.
Mercury’s frozen at zero.
The passage of time cares not for infants,
But here, even nymphets
Lack vital signs. And only cold statues
Appear to capture
The chill that stitches these side streets.
Every morning, the eye greets
Hung-over clouds, like drying clothes.
And every night, moths
Anxiously soar to a burning candle.
The clock strikes the temple
With a pulse that can keep you awake
At your wake.