Maids Of Gravity

Looking down towards the motorway on this pale October morning, just leaning againts the wind on top of a 40 storey building. The sun about to open its eye and greet humanity from their slumber or maybe putting some to sleep. Nocturnal creatures of some sort I guess. I glance across the pavement, old lady Clara taking her routine walk around the block. Umbrella in hand, just in case, even though the weather-man said otherwise. She still thinks its witchcraft. Unstable somewhere,she is.

On the north side of the park, the sun starts to bathe the green from in between the museum and post office. Tuah's statue starts to gleam a gloomy mood for the poor statue hasn't been taken care of for the past couple of weeks. The care-taker was transferred due to some under age squalm. It was on the papers,the news, even on the toilet doors of Jimbo's Bar. In fact it was on that particular cubicle that this whole story started from. Amazing isn't it, the power of the human mouth or vocal chords.

I seem to know it all but apparently not for I am only an observer of life. It's probable true essence. I only have two eyes as humans. I bleed and own a heartbeat. But I'm only permitted to observe and record. For even in a crowd I'm oblivious and silent. I'm one with every moment in time. I'm only me...