Metallic locomotives have replaced the humans: Resting corpses signifying the ones who had once kept foot on these streets and passed away trying to escape.
Escape from the wired skyline is as difficult as adding color to black paint. The deep dark hue forbids yellow, red or green to make through.
I cover my mouth with the long sleeve of my jacket to prevent the reek of injustice and violence enter my nostrils and reach my soul.
The same stench which humans of Old Heart live and breath each day.
The restraining clutter of shoes have just gone to sleep after a bittersweet union with the Laxmi who once bought prosperity.
The broken bangles and long dried droplets of blood on the dusty carpet reflect a reality parallel to the one the maroon lips speak of.
Life shifts from pain perpetuated by one man to another.
The memories of occasional peeps through door cracks and the uninvited touch from below the blanket of pretense, pierces her heart this particular dawn.
The hearts in these human clogged streets seek gold and silver just like you and I.
The escapees are the chosen few whose hearts are wild and free, but fate is brutal and stubborn which drags those back who dare to flee.