What is this Life...

Standing it seems on the brink
of the universe, looking out  
Into a dirty street I wonder
If my written prayers serve
to stand as a testimony
to my belief
to be truly one of those
saved by the grace of God
 
The songs wafting from the spires
angelic tunes, don’t really inspire  
remind me instead, of dirges
and funeral pyres
of psalms and adorations
sung sad out of life,  in the dens
where thieves and whores
rub shoulders in unholy unions
 
Monsoon drains clogged
with dirt from human bogs
there the filthy gliding swans
show their fading beauty
doesn’t inspire any poetry
just dullness like an old toothache
I should leave life ran with rats…
live sedentary in mountain caves
 
I walk the street still
hurting my feet on concrete
fall at times, hurting my knees
watched by indifferent eyes
jaded out, bleached by the constant
run on unyielding pavement  
aware but not really there
 
I wish I can go Home, now.