Cityscape

 

The red, green, yellow street signs flash at me.

With trembling hands, I honk, whisk.

The faint neon lights of the city flicker and blaze.

I am steering my way to the rhythm and pace of vehicles

Moving sideways, up, down and center.

I am using the break incessantly,

Cursing every twisted move I make,

Every street sign I am unable to follow,

Every wrong turn I end up with.

 

I am riding, in bumps and bolts,

While the neon lights, the streets fly past me

In synchronized movements, cooked with frenzy and oblivion.

In the blinding maze of uncertain miles,

Wild bugs screech inside my stomach

Make cracking movements, as my legs race up the accelerator.

I am shoving the car, its wheels and our bodies

Into the city’s farthest boundaries, mapping each road,

Each turn, each exit, rolling and stuffing them in my pockets,

The wheels crushing footprints like dismantled crumbs.

 

I am chewing my pie slices of proximity,

Hatching the intrigue of flying distant realms

While the city calls me out in broken syllables.

I have a splintered grin, wave at the hoisted hands,

At the outstretched fingers, the harmonic choir.

The streets are winding and long,

Embracing highways and horizons under abstract skies.

I weigh out my latitudes and longitudes of leaving.

The default settings of my memories,

They concede with the journey.

I collect them, stuff them in cardboard boxes,

Push them to the boundaries of nowhere.

 

I am shoving the car in the dead end of the city.

Shattered, in splinters and shards.

Down the quiet, grey streets, I drive like an old ghost,

In the break of dawn, flashlights blink like omens.

Lopa Banerjee. October 20, 2014

 

 

 

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About Lopa Banerjee

Lopa Banerjee has studied Creative Nonfiction at the University of Nebraska at Omaha and has a Masters' in English and Journalism from Kolkata, India. She has written a a book-length collection of personal essays and also a poetry collection. She is a regular contributor to 'Cafe Dissensus', an alternate journal of literature and the arts. Her poetry and essays have also appeared at journals and anthologies including 'Fine Lines', 'About Place', 'Yahoo Voices', 'Northeast Review', 'River Poets' Journal', 'Indian Review', ‘The Mind Creative’, 'Prairie Fire' and 'Incredible Women of India'.

19 thoughts on “Cityscape

  1. Lopa Banerjee Post author

    Thank you so much, Ampat Koshy sir, for understanding the essence of the poem so perfectly!! Truly honored 🙂

    Reply
  2. Santosh

    yes, life indeed is full of twisted moves, bumps and bolts, mad steering, blinding mazes-but you drive extremely beautifully with your exquisite pen!

    Reply
  3. Lopa Banerjee Post author

    Thank you Santosh Bakaya, for your beautiful analysis of the driving metaphor of the poem! Much appreciated 🙂 Stay blessed, my friend!

    Lopa.

    Reply
  4. Lopa Banerjee Post author

    Louis Kasatkin,
    Thank you so much. Your comments and insights add so much value to my poems, they are much sought after and valued! Delighted to be a small part of Destiny Poets 🙂

    Reply
  5. Divyakala

    It quiet reminds me of a Tamil poet who questions everything that happens in life through a dialogue style. End of it ..God replies that all the experiences one goes through in life is verily the experience of the divine!.. Legendary and beautifully Woventhoughts.. Hugs to You ! Love and Light!

    Reply
  6. Lopa Banerjee Post author

    Thanks a lot, Divyakala, for your gracious understanding and insights! Much, much appreciated and cherished! Thanks once again.

    Love and hugs,
    Lopa.

    Reply
  7. Lisa Ellis

    Such a lovely poem… I love how you drive the reader through the maze of your emotions that are woven into the cityscape… So many beautiful images and powerful analogies. The style, rhythm and pacing work very well, too. My very favorite descriptions and lines are: I weigh out my latitudes and longitudes of leaving; and The default settings of my memories.
    I also like: wheels crushing footprints like dismantled crumbs; chewing my pie slices of proximity; and the city calls me out in broken syllables.
    Really moving and well done!

    Reply

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