If you fall short , you fail.

Shoot for the moon,

Atleast land above from where started,

No moon was dreamt or visible,

These streets knows me,

I had walked them whole life,

But now turned stranger,

They don’t recognise me,

Those aisle surrounded by rows of tree’s,

Lively calm moving traffic,

And that gentle surrounding and being,

That had a touch of civilization in structure and tenor,

The fair and festivals of eternity,

The playing local game on idle ground,

Have all turned into high rise structure s / studios,.

Those small roadside shops,

Selling tea and penny snacks,

Full of nostalgic smell without glamour,

Every inch has been restored,

The pedestrians well dressed,

Vehicles powerful and shinning,

All scented wih pride,power and pocket,

And the fragrance of change also spread its waft on not so rich ones,

Now million epiphanies in road shinning in flurescent light
Yet stinking far in apartment/roots of them,

Swift current has wafted souls,

And only solace derived by,

Wandering in heavens but devoid of its membership,

It does call me back,

As if exhorts,

Don’t fall short,

Some devise the way,

Mend the full ornament,

Sell it again bouncing by making it bespoke,

Sell it at whims,

And enjoy with dummies in lush/posh surrounding with brilliant exterior/interior,

My street brightened,widened,

And all tags hard to find,

In new avatar of boom.