Looking Up

I've never been one to look up,

Airplanes just mar the sky.

Incessant zooming keeps me awake,

I don't know why I try

To see the stars beyond the city's glow

Or reach out to hold the moon.

What's one more grasping hand to the night air?

My poem will be due soon.

They told me to paint a picture of the city

And say what makes me, me.

But I'm more concerned with what they didn't say

And who I'll never be.

I'll never herd reindeer with the Sami

Or wear their vibrant clothes.

I'll never be a native of Pakistan

Exploring ancient coves.

This brilliant bubble has me trapped

Under skyscrapers and signs

And people who have been replaced by numbers.

They never said that all languages could rhyme,

Or told me of tribes and histories.

They avoided other religions so much that

I thought they were a disease.

But there's nothing wrong with questioning

What all the city holds.

The intricate diversity of its people

Serves to make it gold,

And real, and eclectic, and

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You know, maybe I should look up

And give airplanes a chance

To usher in the faces of the world

So I can see the nations dance.