Urban Love Letter
Viscous, sticky city,
Intoxicating, suffocating, soul-crushing, body-lashing;
Smelly, itchy pity,
Amalgamating, overfeeding, atomizing, starving;
Grasping.
"Please do come to our hospitable urbanized area," —
Screams a kitsch postcard You keep sending;
Oh, it's worth paying a visit! Atrocities exhibited here are of plenty,
A city can suggest you a number of things:
To fit every taste and to struck every feeling,
You'll find glass clear enough to burn the grass and the ants,
You'll find tasty pipes of all sizes: big and little,
With smokes safe enough to whiten the lungs.
You'll regret it but locked is the path to retreat;
There's no way out of this ever-expanding flytrap,
So come and stay here as long as you can, as I did,
As we all did. So there remains a point in fighting.
Vicious, tricky mendacity,
Creeping, seething, crawling, hissing;
Colicky, giddy rapacity,
Draining, drooling, dripping, flowing;
Bleeding.
O City, I love your body of artwork! Truly the finest:
The web of tattoos in poisonous ink that You call "roads";
Sculptures of no one; billboards define the obtruse nature of yours;
Benches pushing their teeth into our backs; how creative!
And finally, the colors beneath the canvas; ghettos —
Your masterpiece; and what are the artists saying? Right:
"Not all of the people are civilized enough for the city,
But the City loves everyone! Just don't go there at night..."
And how many times I forgot my wallet,
That little skinny bag of diseases? To be stolen, or rather
To leave a man empty-handed and my pockets sprawling;
The people so beat down they cure one malady with another?
Spitting, gritty mity,
Polluting, rotting, obscuring, invading;
Bitter, nitty shindy,
Hypnotizing, scoffing, luring, choking;
Gasping.
But I guess the real beauty can't be killed, can it?
The historical center and its surroundings stand strong,
Don't You be shy; let us look around, at least it's free yet!
What does our sharp eye stumble upon?
See those columns? Those banks built on bones?
Those are the pantheons, but of One and for One,
If it ever were for the people, it's gone and never coming back
On its own; unless we take it. But how?
Generations bathing in dust, ripping their skin, over and over;
O City, don't You repeat your own history!
The red flags turned pink so long ago
No one even remembers; and yet,
The glimmer of hope is still on the shirts,
In tears, blood, sweat and some more acid drops
From somewhere above.
And the subways are crumbling on the onslaught of fuss
In a sweet ambiance of methane, sulfur and gas,
Full of gas slicing the words off a tongue
In a place that is our grave and a future front,
Like designer fish trapped in a plastic bag
Out in the Sun. But where is the water?
O City, someday we will bring you back!
And the rain will wash you all over!
Yours truly,
A law-abiding dweller
◀ Go back
Intoxicating, suffocating, soul-crushing, body-lashing;
Smelly, itchy pity,
Amalgamating, overfeeding, atomizing, starving;
Grasping.
"Please do come to our hospitable urbanized area," —
Screams a kitsch postcard You keep sending;
Oh, it's worth paying a visit! Atrocities exhibited here are of plenty,
A city can suggest you a number of things:
To fit every taste and to struck every feeling,
You'll find glass clear enough to burn the grass and the ants,
You'll find tasty pipes of all sizes: big and little,
With smokes safe enough to whiten the lungs.
You'll regret it but locked is the path to retreat;
There's no way out of this ever-expanding flytrap,
So come and stay here as long as you can, as I did,
As we all did. So there remains a point in fighting.
Vicious, tricky mendacity,
Creeping, seething, crawling, hissing;
Colicky, giddy rapacity,
Draining, drooling, dripping, flowing;
Bleeding.
O City, I love your body of artwork! Truly the finest:
The web of tattoos in poisonous ink that You call "roads";
Sculptures of no one; billboards define the obtruse nature of yours;
Benches pushing their teeth into our backs; how creative!
And finally, the colors beneath the canvas; ghettos —
Your masterpiece; and what are the artists saying? Right:
"Not all of the people are civilized enough for the city,
But the City loves everyone! Just don't go there at night..."
And how many times I forgot my wallet,
That little skinny bag of diseases? To be stolen, or rather
To leave a man empty-handed and my pockets sprawling;
The people so beat down they cure one malady with another?
Spitting, gritty mity,
Polluting, rotting, obscuring, invading;
Bitter, nitty shindy,
Hypnotizing, scoffing, luring, choking;
Gasping.
But I guess the real beauty can't be killed, can it?
The historical center and its surroundings stand strong,
Don't You be shy; let us look around, at least it's free yet!
What does our sharp eye stumble upon?
See those columns? Those banks built on bones?
Those are the pantheons, but of One and for One,
If it ever were for the people, it's gone and never coming back
On its own; unless we take it. But how?
Generations bathing in dust, ripping their skin, over and over;
O City, don't You repeat your own history!
The red flags turned pink so long ago
No one even remembers; and yet,
The glimmer of hope is still on the shirts,
In tears, blood, sweat and some more acid drops
From somewhere above.
And the subways are crumbling on the onslaught of fuss
In a sweet ambiance of methane, sulfur and gas,
Full of gas slicing the words off a tongue
In a place that is our grave and a future front,
Like designer fish trapped in a plastic bag
Out in the Sun. But where is the water?
O City, someday we will bring you back!
And the rain will wash you all over!
Yours truly,
A law-abiding dweller
2022, 2025
Dedicated to Langston Hughes