The junction of bloodshed,
where city life collides,
A spot where turmoil reigns
and order fades,
A fight to subsist, a constant act,
In a sphere that's brutal,
and oftentimes chilly.
The air is thick with
the scent of sweat and grime,
As folks rush to their labors
or execute their errands,
And in the midst of all this
frenzied commotion,
The cityscape encounter throbs
like a drum in their grasp.

The boulevards are flooded
with uproar and unending movement,
As cars and coaches and people
fill the emptiness,
A melodious orchestra
of honking horns and rushing feet,
A daily waltz that never
appears to unite.

The edifices tower like behemoths,
straining for the heavens,
As the denizens of the metropolis
hurry past them,
A tribute to humanity's aspiration
and hubris,
Yet also a prompt of our own
insignificance within.

Despite the chaos that engulfs us,
There's beauty to be unveiled in
every crevice,
From the vibrant lights
that illuminate the night,
To the urban dweller who refuse
to be crushed by the order.

In this world of tumult and strife,
The Citified persist in their fight,
Their resilience
and strength a beacon,
Against the shadows of the night.

© BhuyanshiTalukdar2023