8. Learning to write

The day it started, the words weren't directed,

It was just a trial run, that had a desire to come.

While I was to be the necromancer, and tell you the right answer,

The throw went out of kilter, and seems did heed little ear. 

So here I am trying again, and writing an ode to the sparkling city lights,

That I see through the mist and rain, and when I end up waking nights.

There lies a sky too high, and a road with loads of cry, 

Beyond the borders of my seventh heaven high, lie far across twenty seven sky-highs.

Right below my eye is the walking track, a badi court and a basket dry,

That touch the society's border, beyond which start mazes of shacks that shy.

I can see a road mile long, which starts from a primary school bordering along,

Where there are kids during day, who make noises that go far long.

The best part lies far far across, apartments made of concrete and glass,

That spill fumes out day n night, and towers that shine at night in class. 

A sweet breeze kisses my cheek, as I stare blank right across,

Into a city instead of green grass, which was once sparkling gloss. 

Close your eye and try this once, after having read along,

Make a wish and land on an isle, far from home far from gong.

Imagine an ocean across with sails high, that keeps kissing the blue blue sky,

And golden sands making no cry, but singing out loud of those tides high.