Colony

The beating of heat and thriving of life,

nothing lets down the dreams that fly.

the dreams to rule, the dreams to win,

and more to earn, in NewYork style.

The ones who have made the city have left,

and left their roads, their art and style.

The steel still sustains, and holds new lives,

for a hundred years now and thousands to go.

People and their religion have a character of theirs,

the temples on the way watch us with glare

and that's just one their are mosques and Jain's,

all in the same lane, where they sell antiques

and mint waste gold.

All old have a story with them,

the bent in the railing, the sloping window sides.

The frying of samosas and smoking sweet in the air

the tea is boiling on kerosene, as the sun stares.

The English still stand in attention to us

as they had stood in the century past,

so fresh like the sour of cream breaking in mouth 

from piping hot and just baked tarts.