London

In London, rails of black pikes guard,

The white stoned offices with marble façade,

This grand Capital, in its aging glory,

Is also fresh, and young in story.

I was so unaccustomed, to the pace and bustle,

Of Britain’s heart, the crazed strong muscle-

Where every street drips with a name of note,

Some man, event, or national great,

the town varnished, in victorious coat,

 proud worn badges of an ancient state.

But I never really new the city. its cobbled underbelly,

Its harsh tinder wood warrens, housing folk,

From around the world, from Maryland to New Delhi,

I only saw the wealth, the age, the brochures page,

I knew nothing, as I peered into the brown Thames foam,

Of the barges wake, to avoid the eyesore, of that awful dome,

I wondered when I would meet the real ,true, gritty,

Heady, vivacious, global city,

I wanted more, I was now smitten,

By the big smoke’s bug, I had been bitten,

Greed seemed to be the order of the day,

As on culture and past I feasted,

I sank into the ground, the fertile clay.

And I’d have stayed, if I could. But nothing here lasts for ever,

Always in transition,

the style, the skyline, the uncertain weather,

This is its secret, its key to eternal life,

Even through war, and civil strife,

Always changing, moving on,

 Evolving, like the clothes its people don.