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Wednesday, 13 June 2012

Poetry of the day


  
    Haze in the sky

Ever since I can remember
there used to be a hill outside the town
actually made of municipal garbage,
rejected or lost things.
One saw it as the horizon, always smouldering,
smoke curling in spots or rising up,
filling the sky with a blue haze.

Over the years I have watched the hill
first get surrounded by the town, then disguised,
and then get buried and built over.
There are townships there, malls,
Commonwealth Games, Formula 1 races.

The city has made many townships
over the centuries, built over such hills.
The skies have been filling with blue haze :
memories, ghosts and residues
of rejected, lost things.
All cities.

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