My little Heaven



After smokes of a choking generator sediment, a torrid condensation of tar falls breathlessly into humble soils,

Therein he is often seen, murmuring inaudible syllables to himself,
A crossed corner where children hop and run in limited space,
Here, life lives without conscience,bearing a weak memory like an old lady’s
Sands that are pushed in, forgive themselves, their coarse fate, and learn to love the moist green grass
Strong maleficent trees do not exist, only small things grow here, gullible and unaware,
I sit in this garden and a few tears of joy I too give.


Written by Nikita Yadav, Core Group Member of Vox Populi. She adds a note along with her poem below.

(Every night, this little heaven filled with medieval light, falling unevenly on shrubs and flowers, so you couldn’t tell the difference. By the day, it became more earthly, lost much of its divinity. Regardless, it is my thing of beauty. This poem is about my thing of beauty.)