“I walked on, still delighted with the rude beauties of the scene; for the sublime often gave place imperceptibly to the beautiful, dilating the emotions which were painfully concentrated.” — Mary Wollstonecraft.
I walked on, still delighted with the rude beauties
of the scene—
the world chipped at the edges,
peeling back its gloss
to reveal the raw pulse beneath.
A gutter shimmered like stained glass
beneath oil-slick rain.
A siren in the distance
sang a kind of mourning lullaby.
Even the ruined things had music.
The city had grown tired of perfection—
its wounds were visible,
like the lined face of someone
who’s lived and still chooses to smile.
I passed a man asleep in his own breath
and a woman at the bus stop
weeping behind her sunglasses—
and none of it felt tragic.
Just a reminder how harsh reality can be.
There are moments not marked by lightning,
but by the soft erosion
of what you once believed unshakable.
A glance that lingers too long.
The way your name sounds
when spoken with indifference.
The quiet realization that staying is sometimes
the louder betrayal.
It might be a missed call.
A broken mug.
The hush after someone leaves without
slamming the door.
And then— the crossroads.
Not grand, not lit by signs,
but worn by footsteps turning this way and that.
No voice from the sky,
just the hum of your own ache
asking which direction
will cost you less of your soul.
Transformation doesn’t thunder.
It gathers—like dusk—in quiet corners.
And choice feels less like a fork in the road
and more like standing still
long enough
to hear your own breath answer back.
I walked on, through it all—
the rust, the fog, the noise.
The world dreaming itself awake,
one crack at a time.
And I— half-lost, half-born,
allowed it to change me.
Photo credits: Pinterest
Submitting this poem for dVerse Anthology – Krisis: Poetry at the Crossroads 📩
Posted for Poetics: A View of One’s Own @dVerse Poets Pub
34 Responses
Wow I really love this one Sanaa, so much to quote, but to me this:
Transformation doesn’t thunder.
It gathers—like dusk—in quiet corners.
And choice feels less like a fork in the road
and more like standing still
long enough
to hear your own breath answer back.
Spoke to me the most…
Thank you so much, Bjorn 😀 so glad the poem resonated with you! 💄❤️
This is my 2nd submission to the Anthology 🙂
The cityscape shimmers with emotion, Sanaa, finely felt, and in tune with the persona’s internal preoccupations. I love how it effects a transformation, even “as the world dreams itself awake.” Riveting imagery. Loved every but of it.
Thank you so much, Dora 😀 so glad you enjoyed it 💄❤️
(and thank you for the glorious prompt) 🥂
*bit
❤️❤️
Your echoes of the urban heart are so vivid and evocative, Sanaa. I love the way you spring-boarded off the Wollstonecraft quotation, and the wonderful mix of sights and sounds. Like Björn, I found it hard to pick out one or two lines. I think ‘the world chipped at the edges’ is a perfect way to describe a city or town, and I think I have come across the ‘man asleep in his own breath’ and the ‘woman at the bus stop weeping behind her sunglasses’. These lines ring true:
‘Transformation doesn’t thunder.
It gathers—like dusk—in quiet corners.’
Thank you so much, my dearest Kim 😍 so glad you liked it 💄❤️
Love the poem and the lines picked by Bjorn are all my favorite. But also, you painted the city canvas that I see and can relate to, specially the city grown tired of perfection, its wounds visible. A lovely addition to the Anthology.
Thank you so much, Grace 😀 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄❤️
I copied this phrase as I read, thinking I’d find it the most profound: “the world chipped at the edges,” then found too many others that equalled it to note them all. A lovely and original poem. One of your best, in my estimation. Beautiful.
Thank you so much, Judy 😀 so glad you enjoyed it 💄❤️
The vista you assemble here — raw yet complete, wounded yet wondrous — is a surrender to what is and finding it complete. Great job of it.
Thank you so much, Brendan 😀 so glad you liked it 💄❤️
Your cityscape glows with emotions, Sanaa! So many beautiful lines and since I am a city girl, your words deeply resonated. 💖💖
Thank you so much, Punam 😀 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄❤️
Felt very much as a reader…”still chooses to smile”…..yes…but…you opened more than was closed, which is a tribute to wonderful poetry. The ending was like the most epic cream on the cake, but a thought comes to me…is village life better after all, with all its chores and rough daily living…perhaps, perhaps, or do the ones in small settlements suffer the same scarred experiences? Perhaps not.
Thank you so much, Ain 🙂 so glad you liked it 💄❤️
Like Punam, you have given us not some dramatically beautiful view but the dark cityscape where we are forced to witness all aspects of life enacted in close proximity. Yours is a brilliant poem about darkness and it’s effect on us for better or worse Sanaa and I particularly liked
“No voice from the sky,
just the hum of your own ache
asking which direction
will cost you less of your soul.”
Thank you so much, Andrew 😀 so glad you enjoyed it 💄❤️
sanaa, loved this one! kudos, ren
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Ah, I’ve missed the musicality of your language and the vividness of your imagery! Love your reflections here, too – the change and development in both city and self.
Thank you so much, Rosemary 😀 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄❤️
Outstanding, Sanaa. This may be my favorite poem of I’ve of yours. A stunning masterpiece. <3
Thank you so much, Jennifer 😀 so glad you enjoyed it 💄❤️
What a glorious poem, Sanaa! Amazing images! Here are a few of my favorite lines:
the world chipped at the edges,
Even the ruined things had music.
Thank you so much, Nolcha 😀 so glad you liked it 💄❤️
“A gutter shimmered like stained glass
beneath oil-slick rain.
A siren in the distance
sang a kind of mourning lullaby.
Even the ruined things had music. ”
This caught me.
Thank you so much, Sara 😀 so good to see you 💄❤️
O yes, no voice from the sky, just the hum of your own ache, so evocative it touched a nerve, such a wonderful read Sanaa ❤️❤️
Thank you so much, Paul 😀 so glad the poem and its imagery appealed to you 💄❤️
Hello..I’ve been away from writing for a while, in-fact since Poets United, so that shows how long. It’s good to read your work again.
I passed a man asleep in his own breath
and a woman at the bus stop
weeping behind her sunglasses—
and none of it felt tragic.
Just a reminder how harsh reality can be.
So true..
Thank you so much, Julian 😀 so glad you liked it 💄❤️