The trains and buses are bleak
New Yorkers jokingly complain of tourists in the way of a New York minute
But I never thought the city would be this empty consistently
The morning rushes are not filled to the brim like a cup of joe
Where did the people go?
Are they hiding?
Are they taken?
Are they missing?
If so, how do I prove strangers I don’t know are not where they should be?
The bustling sounds of my city scream mixture and freedom
It screams arguments of people who are on top of each other trying to survive and barely get by being paid in laughter and a nod.
The showtime performances that we all hated
The panhandlers that made this city unique
The scammers even
It slowly changed in 2020 but this year it’s different
My beautiful city is dying of a cancer I can not cure
Every day, every morning it seems emptier
And I can’t tell if my mind is plagued with paranoia because I don’t know who to look for.
Businesses that I could not find a seat in have several tables available
The heart of New York City is emptying; it’s bleeding, it’s being deported
The criminals I’ll hear being yelled from people who don’t live here
People who don’t admit crime happens everywhere but are looking to politically blame why it happens instead of free will or Mertons strain theory
People who don’t understand the magic of a melting pot
A place where people of opposing countries can become friends
A simple act of crossing a street or passing a home or apartment
Financial and cultural statuses change at the drop of a dime
The skaters, the bladers, the homeless, the rich, your barista, street performers, security, off duty nurse, on duty ems, the bands, the brave and the scared
But now
the saxophones aren’t weeping in the tunnels the same.
The breakdancers don’t spin, they’ve vanished
I don’t hear a cacophony of languages arguing over music anymore
I hear shoes echo off concrete like ghosts
And maybe I’m losing it,
but it feels like something sacred is being erased
in a language I never learned to fight.
I keep asking
Am I the only one who notices the silence getting louder?
Or is everyone else too afraid to say it sounds like mourning?
About the Creator
Cadma
A sweetie pie with fire in her eyes
Instagram @CurlyCadma
TikTok @Cadmania
Www.YouTube.com/bittenappletv
A Failed Artist, A Disillusioned Poet, An Underpaid Game Show Host
I took my son and niece to Gori, a small town in Georgia where Joseph Stalin was born. They talked me into visiting the Stalin's Museum, the largest in the post-Soviet space. I had resisted going there because I just can't stand the monster and know enough about him, or so I thought.
By Lana V Lynx6 days ago in FYI
Comments (3)
A country built on immigrants decides that they don’t like em. I would say anymore but they never like em no matter who the immigrant was. That’s why they listen to the rhetoric of scapegoating so their conscious is clean. If they are all criminals then it’s ok. Hey he said he wants to deport citizens… I’m not worried he doesn’t mean me … and I say yet
Wonderful
Wow. This is sad poetry. I was never a city guy, but there were things I really liked about nyc, and these things felt so central to the feel of the city that I believed they’d endure forever. The melting pot, the vivacity, the intersection and convergence of so many lives from such diverse backgrounds… . These things are so wrapped up in my concept of nyc, that I can’t imagine nyc without them. The idea that nyc is emptying out and that the good noises are quieting is actually a kind of anxiety inducing.