Concrete cries..

The first step into the newly paved street assures of a firmness of the masses. There exists a fine line between the event of being and the event of the transcending. We live like we are meant to. Do we question what causes our being here at this place ad time to be of so much importance. Is it so important at all that the definition of existence should be pivoted around me or you or for that matter any body at all.
Where were we when time paused once to take note of its trail of aspiring catchers, expiring aspires and exasperated non catchers. Time catchers in a constant race to overtake. To win to lose to want to win but always in the league of those considered.
Considered to be present absent or expected for some special time and appointment.
What if you dissolve yourself into the crowd and become everyone yet not one. With heartbeats of the whole breed instructing the remixed music of the mind.
Hands , fingers and feet clicking to an unsung rhythm of the concrete jungle like the graphic equalizer of an ever changing countdown. Counting down to the first one from the last millionth. The first one to go to school, the first one to ride a bullet, the first one t scream at the minaret , the first one to drop out of std 5, the first one to stand in line for water , the first one to walk out of her marriage ,the first one to beat and cry .. cry .. cry is what the grey walls do, cry is what the dolls within do .The grey mist reddens sore eyes of the spurned lover and the sea thirsts for the salt of warm tears. Drops of vanity flood the deep rooted hate-city lying underneath the teeming bustle of the happy-city.