poem #4

 For this poem, I chose to have a speaker that wasn't myself, but of somebody I know. This person's perceptions of the 'city by the sea' have changed significantly after the deaths of both this person's parents. Poem #4 & #5 both have this speaker as the narrative voice. 

...

The city that was once mine,

is not anymore. 

I sit still on the plane, 

staring at an airport that has not changed, 

When I see the 'Welcome to Karachi' sign, 

I feel pained. 

The car journey home, 

was now a journey to an inanimate structure: 

Abbu was replaced by an unfamiliar driver, 

and my joy was filled with dread. 

The city moves around me, 

but I am passive: 

watching it move, 

whilst sitting still. 

Now that Abbu is gone, 

I can no longer hear the bird's songs. 

They have been drowned out by my own loud thoughts. 

I reminisce about what was, 

what will be, 

and what could have been. 

The city that was once mine, 

is not anymore. 

I enter his room,

and a flush of warmth overcomes me. 

The door stays locked, 

until I come. 

Nothing has changed in this room, 

yet everything has. 

The soap is the same as it was that day, 

the drawers are in disarray, 

it is the same as it was that day. 

Time stands still in the room, 

a solace from the city of movement. 

I no longer feel the breeze, 

that rushed inwards on humid evenings. 

In this city of movement, 

I am still. 

This city that was once mine, 

is not anymore.