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.

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