New York

New York 2

I look at the statue of liberty
Doming over New York.
While I walk, wondering why my testicles
Seem aloof of any feeling, as I walk through
Mazes of perpendicular intersections,
Sightseeing, learning that paths cross here
More often than we ever imagine,
And yet we go about our business,
Cold shoulders bumping at 90 degree corners,
Breaking the ice on occasion, with a smile,
While your skin battles the sub-zero temperatures.
You look around at name boards
And popular brand names, wondering
Whether this city has something to sell to the tourist,
Almost all the time. You can get lost anywhere, in this town,
Caught in the hustle and bustle,
Of quotidian drama and sometimes, you’re in danger
Of losing yourself, wearing a “I Love New York” t-shirt,
Constantly reminded of how easy it is,
To become so irrelevant. It petrifies you,
How boundless freedom is. As every human label
Disappears, while unifying wavelengths
And heritages, making you just like
The omnipresent, yellow-colored cabs, common
And attention-unworthy, and called
All over by the same name. And the tourist,
Looks at a social contract,
That attributes the apple of the eye,
To a monster feeling, that gives shade
To his civilian dreams.

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