POEM - Roots In Concrete

Beneath the towers, steel and glass,

Where shadows stretch and people pass,

A silent tale begins to weave—

Of roots that clutch and won’t let leave.

Not forest green, nor fertile loam,

But still they call this wasteland home.

Through fissures in the asphalt gray,

A seed once dared to find its way.

No fertile soil, no summer rain,

No gentle breeze to ease the strain,

Yet still it rose, defied defeat—

These roots were born in poured concrete.

The city never knew its name,

It bore no label, earned no fame.

But deep within foundations laid,

Its quiet strength refused to fade.

Through scaffolds high and drilling cries,

Through smoke that dimmed the morning skies,

It learned to breathe, adapt, survive—

Its quiet defiance kept it alive.

While others sought the greener past,

Or waited for the storm to pass,

This life endured in static hum—

In bus horns, steel, and traffic drum.

Its leaves were not of emerald light,

But ash-tipped green with edge of night.

Yet even so, it bloomed with pride,

A whisper where the loud reside.

The roots were not like those in books,

Not blessed by streams or babbling brooks.

They wrestled wires, pipes, and stone—

And claimed their victory alone.

Each crack became a path to grow,

Each burden shaped its undertow.

Where weakness ruled, it made a stance—

In absence, found inheritance.

The world above moved fast and far,

With neon lights and luxury cars.

But still, beneath that bright veneer,

The roots dug deeper, year by year.

They tunneled through forgotten clay,

Where children once were taught to play.

Where elders built with hand and sweat—

The roots remembered, won’t forget.

In concrete jungles, dreams feel faint,

Hope’s voice is hoarse, its posture bent.

But here within the static hum,

A new resistance has begun.

A sprout that breaks the hardened mold

Speaks louder than the lies we’re told.

For in its grit, we see the truth:

The present stands on buried roots.

These roots, though cracked and battle-worn,

Bear stories of the ones who mourn—

Of hands once blistered, backs once broke,

Of builders cloaked in dust and smoke.

They are the tales of migrants lost,

Of families paying freedom’s cost.

Of voices muffled by the pace—

Still growing, reaching, holding space.

A flower blooms on sidewalk edge,

Its stem a vow, its leaves a pledge:

That though the ground be dry and stark,

The soul still kindles in the dark.

Each blossom forged in iron skies

Becomes a lens through which we rise.

For grit is not the lack of pain—

It’s pushing upward through the strain.

The child who dreams beside the slum,

The elder with her aching thumb,

The artist painting walls with grace,

All anchor in this rooted place.

A rootedness not born of ease,

But carved in hardship, dust, and freeze.

A will that neither storms erode,

Nor tides of concrete can corrode.

Beneath the tracks and broken glass,

Beneath the burdened worker’s class,

A force endures with quiet might—

The pulse beneath the city’s light.

It doesn’t scream, it doesn’t boast,

It simply does what matters most:

It holds the line, it bears the weight,

It dreams when dreams disintegrate.

Roots in concrete, strong and still,

Unfold with silent, steadfast will.

Not seeking praise, nor asking why—

Just reaching up toward the sky.

And so the skyline’s steel and chrome

Is not the full truth of this home.

For every tower's haughty gleam

Stands on someone else’s dream.

And every blossom by a wall,

However faint, however small,

Declares that growth and hope can meet—

Yes, even here… in poured concrete.

Short Summary:

"Roots in Concrete" is a professional and poetic reflection on resilience, growth, and perseverance in hostile environments—specifically urban landscapes. The poem uses the metaphor of a plant growing through cracks in concrete to symbolize individuals and communities who endure, adapt, and rise despite harsh surroundings, systemic neglect, or lack of resources. It honors unseen labor, immigrant strength, working-class tenacity, and the quiet power of enduring hope. In essence, the poem asserts that even in the most unlikely places, life will push through—deeply rooted and destined to bloom.