UrBane

These gray hills, dot the city,

but the stars don't seem closer,

from a flyover.



I waited all night,

but no dewdrops fell from that,

solitary streetlight.



Amidst a thousand hot rushing headlamps,

I shivered and shivered.

Found no warmth.



Huddled did I,

but gentle shade never tiptoed,

into that bus stop.




These black ribbons seduce,

yet I ache for the touch of my

wet, pregnant earth.