Wide roads lined with machine interventions,
The human race, a common spectacle.
Sprawling houses that echo a silence of the perennial chaos , Of the family outside striving to earn more than yesterday.
Crowded seems the land, where time is scarce, And this an excuse so farce.
Where tree lined roads mark the neighbouring land, Where time is not only for office summons, This timeless land has time to live.
Am I lost .in the crowded hustle or in the serenity of the timeless land.
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