Title:
I no longer hear the sounds of my homeland The whistles and hums, constructions’ cacophony In their place, I only hear silent onomatopoeia. The hum and churn of chai, loud whispers Soft chirping birds, Crickets chirpingYet I miss the genuine city sneeze The emptiness I felt currently Is one of a telenova It’s blessed that I am histrionically free Still how few friends come just for me
I no longer hear the sounds of my homeland
The whistles and hums, constructions’ cacophony
In their place, I only hear silent onomatopoeia.
The hum and churn of chai, loud whispers
Soft chirping birds, Crickets chirping
Yet I miss the genuine city sneeze
The emptiness I felt currently
Is one of a telenova
It’s blessed that I am histrionically free
Still how few friends come just for me
Author:
Bio:
What is the sum of 11 and 6:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.