I see Mowgli

In-between the greens,

The luckiest person

That I’ve ever seen,

His eyes weigh heavy

Out of desperation,

Gazing at the

Beginning

Of the city.

 

He looks at the

Veneered part;

The presentable

And pretending

People of the street,

And I think to myself,

Only if he knew

What was beneath.

 

Splinters of deceit

That could sting,

A seemingly

Forever kind of

Relationship that

Ends up as a fling,

Friendships of disloyalty

Unlike the animals,

Promises of extremity

That actually limits

Itself to the minimal.

 

Having been here

For quite a while,

I can tell that

The entire city

Doesn’t sleep at night,

Amongst them are

A few hearts that beat

Fast out of fear,

Even in the

Presence of light.

 

There are hardly

Any dreamers awake

When it’s all bright,

What seems achievably near

Is often far from sight,

On someone’s new dawn,

Someone’s someone is gone;

There is no share of problems

Except for the partnership firms,

And yet public health and safety

Is politically affirmed.

 

All of this,

And then I look

At Mowgli,

In-between the greens,

The luckiest person

That I’ve ever seen,

And I wish to tell him

That there isn’t any place

As lively, simple in the

Most beautiful way,

Fierce and yet mild,

Like the wild;

It is truly one-of-a-kind,

You wouldn’t want

To be acquainted

With something

Unkind.