The Singing City

Fragrant mist, exotic in array,

Stealing into the sun’s eyes,

Lighting the hot, humid morning.

A continental, oriental surprise,

Wild and charming, fresh and splinted.

Jungle spirits, lazing bonsais: refreshing.

From the flat white high-rises,

Guarding the trafficked sky.

A conglomeration of cultures,

A hubbub of languages in centrality,

Globally renowned and utterly deserved.

For reasons unfathomable in this rich foreignness,

Here I feel at home. Here I feel free.

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