I know this place. It’s high. It’s smelly. Yet, in all its dinginess, it’s beautiful. I can see smoke emerging from a chimney, the vapors untying and then fusing, yet again, in a mystic dance, forming swirls of grey/black/purple set against a picturesque sunset, and stumpy yet supple low-lying clouds. There’s an orange sun, gleaming through those cumuli, so that it looks like a diffusing orb. I can feel raindrops on my flesh; the miniature puddles lustrous, like crystals, telling me tales of exhaustion, relaxation, purity, pollution, whatever you may. The air is mellifluous yet the humdrum and reverberation of sounds forms a repetitive composition. The muffled beeping of cars, the banter of kids frolicking in the rain, the sloshing of water, as impatient automobiles send it displacing everywhere, a silently raucous cacophony. This place I am in, the peeled paint and low-lying electricity wires telling stories of the unkempt monstrosity which it is, except that it doesn’t look as ugly to my eyes, as to yours maybe. It is love that I feel, seeping from the clasped hands of the couple walking by, or the mother feeding her child somewhere down below. Love; inhumanely selfish, yet a savior, compassionate and benevolent. As I gaze down below, my city, in all its division and discord, looks united. Perhaps the interconnected lanes and paths, and the even similar accents of voices trailing upwards sowed this into my mind? Or maybe because I can’t see the self-imposed boundaries between places this high up?
And then, for a moment of time, maybe an hour? A minute? A second? An unfathomable flash, then a bang. Everything plummets, all laws of physics go haywire as a human being somewhere below, pushes a button. A blazing radiance is everywhere, and then darkness. From the pits of those frolicking children comes the sound of muffled wailing. And then, all hell breaks loose. Cars, lots of them, on fire. People, running in flight. More bawling and screaming. People, pieces of them lying here and there. Never has a darker night existed for them. There they come, with those corpulent bellies, dirty black shirts, and khaki pants. Gunshots, the crass sounds of what some mistake for security. Every nook and cranny heaving with suspicion yet relief. Ambulances and Press vans come blaring into the night. And then, that moment of time ends. As the orange sun comes rising in all its glory. Except for a few stains of blood, and a myriad of stories and scars associated with this place, everything is the same. The same, yes. Maybe it’s the juxtaposition of life moving on and on and on? Maybe not. So, where was I? Unity, yes. All’s forgotten.