The skyline is different here. It is crowded with tall skyscrapers twize the size of my building back home . It is painted by a million green trees, more beautiful than any place I’ve seen, shadowed by the creeping yellow , hot sun and a smell of smoke , thick dense factory smoke and cigarette smoke . All smoke are the same. All streets are replicated and all the people are scarily the same. There Is a whiff of absence in the air , a longing for connection . I think that is the problem with a massive city , no one feels at home with oneself. We dint , back home, need Apps to meet people. Everyone talked to everyone. Our skies were more coloured with the warmth of the desert sun instead of the scorching city sun. There weren’t any trees or grandiose buildings but atleast it felt like home. It gave a space of comfort, a space for someone to be herself, for familiarity. Here I am terrified to step out alone . I have heard enough stories of women who stepped out and were pushed into darkness and years of trauma. I am terrified to talk to people. Everyone talks but there is no genuine concern in their voice. The air here feels heavy , heavily pregnant with shattered dreams , the pieces lying open like broken glass to wound again and again every man. Homesickness has made me to continue writing sad poetry and the pain is so deep it doesn’t even sound like venting anymore.