The soul is sucked dry!” she cried.
“But who needs a soul in the city?”
She looks out from “a place… dry
and dusty*.” Ironically, the 15th floor.
She has been away from her home
so long that the city is integrated
with her being, her thoughts. City-
molded, but not city-fed. It feeds
upon those who stay this long —
eyes stop investigating, brains
stop reflecting, chips swallow
braincells — a uniform diversity
has absorbed her originality.
The last time she left, went home,
she had forgotten the language.
Warmth, welcome and humanity
had driven her back to the hub,
the tower. Steel, concrete, glass.
Traffic, litter, loneliness… safety.
What once was discordance,
grate, jar, screech, is lullaby —
the hum of humanity’s machine.
* – Juan Ramón Jiménez, “Author’s Club”
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