Moscow City

Old city

Once wooden city

Twice burnt and

Resurrected city

Now as cold 

As its stone walls city

Proud city Moscow -

Where everyone goes 

When there’s no where else to go.

The city lives many lives

Work

School

A  randez-vous

Swept into the metro - 

The spider web of destination

Too many colored lines to name

the labyrinth of the everyday

The madness of one’s agenda

Just making it

Or infiltrating right in,

Through the shoves,

and the elbows,

and enormous purses.

Caught in the prison of someone else’s breath 

Or watching the doors slide shut.

Babushkas - not in bright head scarves,

But gray and shabby,

Not jolly,

No - they are the monuments 

Of old struggles.

They find their purpose

Establishing their presence 

Amidst averting eyes of the young,

Hiding in the books or newspapers

Drowning in the sounds of their iPods.

The Old ride the metro 

To remind their unwilling students

Of how things used to be.

Now sleepless city,

Commercialized city,

Too fast 

and taken for granted city.

If only I could stop time,

Pause your chaos

And see your true beauty, 

my City.