The MahaNagari never sleeps, never sleeps.
She is awake when all are sleeping,
And when all are in sleep she still remains awake.
She takes no sleep but still dreams big.
She wears a plethora of masks for occasion’s innuendo.
Some are beautiful and some are monstrous,
I fear she has lost her face
In the midst of hustle and bustle.
The mask of Raavan and Ram,
The mask of greed and a philanthropist,
The mask of educated and uneducated,
The mask of cruelty and compassion,
The mask of riot and festival.
Which one is true? She does not know.
Her greed is so large that relentlessly she goes on and on.
The MahaNagari is still spreading,
Like a blanket of blurred fuzzy smoke.
A person gets lost in her smoky trail,
Still she entrances the person in her magical glittery maze.
By Mrs Anuradha Singh
Strings of My Heart 