Urban Beauty

The feel of chilly wind on your face, the misty evenings, the red streaked hazy sky, the sodium vapour lit foggy-smoggy streets, the bare, cold, naked roads, the purple star-filled sky at dawn, the fog-shadowed-illuminated buildings in the distance, the rustle of dried leaves on the weathered ground…on the outer brink of dusk, at the threshold of the night, the sensual balance, time stops...

It speaks of some ancient promises still waiting to be fulfilled, the realms of touch still unexplored, an echo in the wilderness of infinity, the endless, inevitable, eternal waiting…the joy of pain, the earthiness, the basic instinct, the prehistoric hunches, the quiet looks, the wishful thinking, the wistful sighs...the wind seeps in through the layers, prods me into consciousness of life...the animal instinct...it whispers about giving in, about losing yourself, about being one with the sky and the earth and the moon and the stars...the unbound imagination, the multiple orgasms of fantasy and reality, the calling, the erotica of nature -- the urban beauty