The heart of the city is burning

The images of quiet city streets speak,

Of cold and snowy scenes far to bleak,

No midwinter wonderland of many sales,

No excitedly placed footprints left in trails,

Only the emptiness of shuttered shops,

And the barren spaces of bleak bus stops,

The heart of the city is burning so silently,

Taking the soul of the population violently,  

Community spirits are struggling to cope,

With the burden of carrying people’s hope,

Kindness shines through the city’s inferno,

Despite being fuelled with cheap Pernod,

The heart of the city is burning dramatically,

Its urban beat weak and pulsing erratically,

Businesses kneeling upon their city’s street,

Bruised badly as they try to make ends meet,

Bleeding money they can’t afford to lose,

Fighting with ecommerce and all their views,

Deserted pavements missing their soles,

No feet to meet and greet taking their tolls,

With cracked slabs patched up with asphalt,

Showing its scars healing in the snow melt,

The city will rise out of the virus’ harsh grip,

Coming to life with open doors after the blip,

The heart of the city is burning powerfully,

Through its people living together pridefully,

Like the phoenix rising from the cold ashes,

Once the lockdown ends and undo the lashes,

The city’s night lights will burn twice as bright.

As the parties will take off like a colourful kite.

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