METROPOLIS

People call it city of joy, they call it sprightly
They show all it's splendor but I feel it unsightly.
What a horrible sight of those lanes,
Those dingy streets! Has nothing but filth.
I saw them standing in dark gloomy alleys
Where nothing remains but only obscurity.
Those who stopover, loves them not
But finds them to dump their debris in.
What a fearful sight is that, to see people
Vend themselves to take in others’ waste
To make those people happy
In exchange of a little expense.

No it’s not a city of joy!
It cannot feel their pain,
Nor does it heed their moan
Who resides on the street,
On which We build our mansion,
Knowing not, where these men will live,
We enjoy our lives, yes We, the affluent people;
But how many of us are well-off?
When we count our number,
We are nothing in front of them.
Then how can this be a city of joy,
When most of it’s’ people are in pain?
How can this provide pleasure,
When rest of the lot is in disdain.

It is a city of joy for them who affords,
Can spend their nights in club, can movie
In multiplexes. Yes it is joyful for them, who can,
Can meet the expense of their lavish lives,
But has nothing for those who brought them up.
They are sent to the homes where no dear ones remain with them,
Only few memories of their brood when they were children.

City of joy, city of delight, city of ecstasy,
This city has nothing to do with grief,
Nothing with melancholy. This city is unaware
Of the troubles it bestow to them who cannot afford.
Neither can it provide them with necessary support.