A hundred years of solitude 



In the shadows of time, this city sleeps
with ancient stories
that hang heavy in the smog
like crumbling tapestries exhausted
with the weight of voices—dead
and alive calling out for help.
In its streets and highways and bridges
lie trapped fantasies
of castaway minds colliding
with the unwitting passerby
suffocating those who linger
with their anguish.

From the names carved on its walls
to the accidental footprints on blank
pavements, this city reeks
of a hundred years of solitude.

On second thoughts, I should probably post science stuff on a –erm — science blog. Ideas? 


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