There is life in the sound of my heels on the quiet streets of London,
In the crammed tubes where people are always rushing to go somewhere.
There is life in the moon glaring at me from behind the clouds,
In the silent nights by the river when music and laughter are blasting from afar.
There is life in the art of London, the poets of London, the seculars of London.
There is life in the red buses, and the cab drivers who are either too frustrated, or respond with “alright love, I’ll take you there,” There are lights, homeless men with kind eyes, and constant movement in the air.
The weather in London and I are both unpredictable and fast to transition from a condition to another; we are gloomy at times, and still at other.
You ask why all my choices lead me to London, dear mama, it’s because all my choices lead to Life.