I miss my city.
The huge man made marvels that make up the landscape.
The insomnia that can never be cured.
The cracks, the crevices, the slums and the heights.
The underground stream where people unite.
For one goal, to individually get where they must go.
I miss the option of stairs or elevator. And the fact that the higher you get, your view becomes greater.
I miss the silence on one block, and the chaos on another. I miss my mother, sister, and brother. And how we use to interact with each other.
I miss the kiss of the winter, the chill of the fall, the caress of the spring, the flame of the summer.
I miss the concrete under my feet, and the brick along my eyes.
I miss observing how some people fall and some people rise, and wondering how they achieved those lives.
I miss watching those who dreamed of this place find its reality. And watch it swallow the weak and take away their mortality.
I miss waking up early, when the ground is still sound. And feeling as if I was the ruler of this town.
I miss my city.

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Rolando Rosario

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  1. William Cowan says:

    rolando, a rapacious, well conveyed urban atmosphere in all its totality. the heartbreaking moments and the transient joys. keep up the good work. fellow poet, william cowan



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