The ground is like a frozen lake,
dangerous thin,
the fear of it breaking,
and falling into a maze of subway tracks.
Old coins litter the stone,
shimmering,
shivering,
staring up, apathetically at the crowds.
Steam leaves our mouths,
making us seem like fierce dragons,
and not small mortals.
Rats trying to win a race
Are we men or mice?
Mirror is mixed with cement,
the land more glamourous than it is,
and people swim like fishes,
pretending they can breathe.
Is it bad,
when you are afraid of sunrises,
and green fields,
but not dirty beggars,
hands held to the sky,
praying for rain.
