In the wind

I stand at the top of the highest point, On its edge looking down at the flowing river below. 
In the blue sky’s above. Birds soar high among the clouds so white, that briefly hid the face of the sun like a mask at a ball.

I close my eyes, closing off everything so I can feel the cold crisp wind caressing my face and body.
I open my eyes and look once again at the river below. Flowing like blood throw veins.
But this river is not made of water blue,  nor blood but of mettle, glass, and motors. 
For this is the flowing blood of this valley of concrete and glass.
Above in the blue polluted sky’s the birds of steel fly, with their bellies full of life and dreams.

So I stand on the tallest building  looking down upon this brave new world.
With a forever changing horizon, cranes and skyscrapers. where there was once fields and forests.
The brightest thing was once the sun but now it’s the neon lights of clubs and bars. Drowning the light of the suns burning eternally in the night sky.

In the wind the memories of the past. Of what this land once looked.
The memories, the dreams of all those of who are and who were upon this rock.
In this ever changing  growing land. The wind unchanging flowing, moving throw time and space, never stopping, never slowing.

I stand gaze down and the moving red, yellow and orange lights darting around the dark veins of the city. The cold air chilling my skin as the wind rushes around my body. 
As I fall towards the ground I spread my arms as wind takes me away.
A memory. A thought. A dream. 
All ripped away and now drifting in the winds of time.

©2013 sarah patel