Once was my city

It used to be a charming, little city, with old trees lining its sleepy roads. A sense of familiarity floating in the air, and a genteel, if predictable, demeanour of modest living.

Where has that friendly place – which could listen with equanimity to the voices of dissent and to the voices of reason – disappeared? Who are these rowdy, greedy, intolerant fanatics that have ripped apart the civilized serenity that lived in my city, once?

Once was my city

This city
Which was once my city
Feels like a stranger I bumped into
At one time
He would have
Gathered his papers
And I
My purse and specs and the keys
From the ground
A gentle apology
Before we went away
I will be wary
Of airing my thoughts even
In this city
Which was once my city
They bump
Into someone
And he whips out a gun
The voice of reason
Just because
He doesn’t like
The sound of it
Through this city
Once was my city.

Jyotsna Atre

This post is a part of the Blogchatter A2Z challenge