A city on the west coast of Sweden is home
to a staggering one million people.
Numerous tram tracks criss-cross its vast belly.
People of various colours and creed inhabit here.
Must you visit Nordstan on an evening:
you will see children playing on the marble floors;
you will see old men with long beards and heavy jackets playing chess at Le pain Français;
Hare Krishna devotees stop passersby to disseminate the glory of God;
amidst this hullabaloo, choristers with discordant voices sing the glory of Jesus;
teenagers with their spiked hair, wearing leather jackets adorned with numerous metal studs and sporting heavy boots and torn jeans, lie flat on the floor in front of Wasséns.
At the entrance, a beggar with a deformed leg asks for money;
not a gaze falls on this impoverished soul as
the busy shoppers walk swiftly past him.
A white blanket of puffy clouds coats the sky.
White, the epitome of purity;
White, the colour that destroyeth brother/sister-hood;
White the colour that embraces all the colours within its crevices.
The day cometh to an end.
Darkness descends and birds hide;
children weep as owls hoot;
a tiny star manages to peek through
the thick blanket of dark clouds,
to guide the songbird that crosses the delsjön;
amidst these activities, a giant moose knee-clicks,
to signal the rest of the herd for a night walk.