the city is my home...

the city is my home,
i don't have another,
these building are my walls
and the streets my floor
and the people my family.

but the city is an unkind home
pushing me into myself
or a crowd i cannot talk with.
the people have fenced up
their small hearts
to live on their reason.
when shall they learn to care
to look into another's eyes
and find him there?
when shall they love
those who need their love?

only the desolate cre,
because they have dared
themselves to feel,
even between these bare walls,
dared themselves to walk the streets,
in the loneliness of the night, the week-day beches
where there are no picnickers,
or sit in the noon of the day
to see the traffic and the rush,
even among these city-cries.

if my people do not learn to care,
to breathein the air,
this dust and this ozone,
to say this country is their country
this town is their home,
they shall die from their own estrangement,
and the buildings will crumble,
the streets will crack in the sun.

yet this city my home,
these people my people.