An Old City
An old city
Actually is not a city
It’s a banana tree
It’s every nook and corner
Like a banana tree
With unique taste and flavor
Since thousands of years.
It has igneous memories
Of old lava
Buried here and there
In metamorphic creations,
Inadequately ejaculated;
And in footprints rocky
Soft dew could sleep blithely
Still with modernity.
An old city
Is like an eternal journey
Amidst webbed rings
Worn, torn, entangled intricate
As if fibers of time.
