The city is
at peace.
It is eventide, the
Sun goes
down
His Orbit
,his oranged ambers
Still hanging
on His Majestic Abode.
There is a staunch bodied strong willed,
He is sniper,
well marked for his
Ambit of
targets. Seated at his armchair,
At the
crossroads, he has a visionary gleam,
Papers, bottles,tattered clothes, strewn all
Around him; many more numerous
and variegated, symbols of war torn
atmosphere.
The
aroma of coffee shop is enticing,
Poets and
writers’ promenade.
Hope of
public activity,
Poets, writers
and club Walla’s
Will throb
and revive .
Full throng
of public worship .
A spark
in his eyes glows.
He
anticipates life in both sides.
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