Indian Metropolis

The patch of green
Was gasping for breath.
It stared vacantly,
Like the chicken at the butcher
Staring at death!
The concrete all around-
It’s myriad colours
like the devil’s face,
Seemed to have a vice like grip.
The pained,
cold, despondent,
sighing breath,
let out by the patch of green,
Hangs overhead,
as a veil of smog!

Author: gdutta17

Born in the year 1968, my childhood was spent amidst the beautiful scenic landscape of a small town in India, Ranchi. Though an engineer by qualification, reading, writing and cooking are my passions. Another thing that I am passionate about is my country, India. As they say, a lifetime is probably not enough to explore the whole of India. Currently based in Kolkata, I can be reached at

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