In the city's maze of stories,
scribed on sidewalks and neon hum,
where shadows waltz with lamplight's charm,
and footsteps echo in the urban song.
Underneath a shy city moon,
I stumbled on an old bookstore,
its shelves laden with tales and dust,
whispering secrets in the language of pages.
The air holds the scent of fresh rain,
mingling with street food's sizzle,
vendors peddling memories on plates,
while laughter and distant traffic join the melody.
Graffiti tells tales on brick canvases,
splashes of rebellion and vibrant hues,
each tag a voice in the color chorus,
painting stories on the city's canvas.
A lone musician on a corner stage,
fingers strumming the guitar's strings,
weaving melodies that rise and fall,
capturing the city's heartbeat.
In hidden alleys, murals come alive,
scribed on sidewalks and neon hum,
where shadows waltz with lamplight's charm,
and footsteps echo in the urban song.
Underneath a shy city moon,
I stumbled on an old bookstore,
its shelves laden with tales and dust,
whispering secrets in the language of pages.
The air holds the scent of fresh rain,
mingling with street food's sizzle,
vendors peddling memories on plates,
while laughter and distant traffic join the melody.
Graffiti tells tales on brick canvases,
splashes of rebellion and vibrant hues,
each tag a voice in the color chorus,
painting stories on the city's canvas.
A lone musician on a corner stage,
fingers strumming the guitar's strings,
weaving melodies that rise and fall,
capturing the city's heartbeat.
In hidden alleys, murals come alive,
