November 13, 2019
by: Trinity Pelina
Heat prickling on skin, ears pierced by the jeepneys’ whine
Bare necks crane towards the sun, a ripe mango sitting in the sky
And wide, silver towers shoot upwards
The steel spires sparkle, shine, beckon
Bright caverns filled with treasures
Void of souls to reap their benefits
Illusory wealth
Lower your head from the sky, I say
Coax your stubborn gaze to the vast cardboard city
Looming below in the towers’ shadow
The towers do not shine for the children playing in the street
Nor the man selling his wares on the corner
Nor the mother at the market returning home to six hungry mouths
Yet from sheet metal and cement
These souls shine alone, beautiful, unnoticed.
The mango falls.
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