When the city was young,
We could point at our stars amidst
the faint and dead ones.
We pounded clay and simmered stew of stones.
Memories linger.

The city is aged.
The rooves have, since, morphed to brown.
The boys have grown beards,
And the girls, blessed with bosoms.

You should be startled.
Take a look at our deserted playing field.
To be manned by today
And tomorrow’sĀ  young progeny.
The yesterday’s kids have sought life to East and West.
Twenty children can’t play for twenty years, says the sage.

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