LISTEN TO THE POEM BEING READ AT: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSdaYMvKB/

I’m looking out through my balcony door
The glass gleaming - I never miss that 
That sheen itself is a pleasure to see
The gloss, the shine makes my heart glad 

Then I look outside at the city lights 
Some glimmering others sunny bright 
I look beyond at the skyline that now 
Boasts a few high rises above the eighth floor 

My mind telescopes into some homes 
But please hold that thought, don’t let it roam! 
It’s not a voyeuristic enterprise of the mind
It’s reading the drive behind the grind 

What makes that man who lives alone
In a one room apartment on the third floor 
Wake up day after day after day?
What makes him go out his front door?

What special dreams has he woven with time?
Which ones has he decided to leave behind?
Is the light in his eyes still glowing bright 
Or is he just stolidly marking time?

That woman who is holding down 
Two jobs in two different parts of town 
What is she hurrying and scouring for? 
What makes her oblivious to her aches and her sores?

That young boy barely into his teens 
His moustache is yet to take place of state 
On his young, adolescent face 
What is he doing out on the steets so late?

The young girl who sits up late by herself
Stitching joras* that must go on the shelf
Of an elite boutique. Do her dreams still speak?
Or are they now mute wraiths of themselves?

In the pit of my stomach lies a spot of guilt 
The quickening of my heart tells me the truth 
Of the relentless grind, the killer odds 
But I tell myself - what can you possibly do …

The gleaming door now to my back 
I look over my balcony railing this time 
Beyond is a world that is dusty and raw 
My own pleasure wanes in the shadows of night-time

* Jora: In Urdu, a set of clothes, usually shalwar kameeze.