Posted by: nativeiowan | April 28, 2010

a bustling city

A bustling city.  The frenetic pace of urbanized life. Eight lanes of traffic. Like schooling fish. Bright yellow taxis. Sleek, deadly limos. Darting, multicolored scooters. Flowing with the current. The current of life. The current of survival. Coral reefs of cement and steel.  Footpaths filled with plankton. The skies filled with rays and jellyfish.

He walked out of place. Out of pace. Country bred and island happy. No horizons. The monoliths and herds left him cold. Froze his mind. Stifled his senses and confused his judgment. The moving shoals snarled and snapped. Threatened to harm. The language of the streets was not his. Would never/ could never, be his.

No horizons. For the millions who swam these waters. For the young family on the small scooter. For the taxi driver who reads his paper as he divines the path. For the occupants of the limo who think they are safe. No horizons. Not from the 100th floor. Not while one is encased in glass.

Encased in glass and steel. We lead our lives. Swim the currents and flow with the schools. Encased in steel and glass they are born. Encased in glass and steel they live and die. Encased in glass an steel they are buried. An unnatural blend becomes. Modern society and modern man. Have lost the plan?

Agrarian just a generation ago. After the war. Things were tough. We lived off the land. Like our forefathers before. And before. And before. But that was not enough. The open fields where we toiled and grew. Became high-rise apartments, parking lots and public parks. The horizons shrank. Shrank. And shrank. As we did as well.

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