Seven hundred and fifty millimeters between worlds-
Confined on one side,
the enormity of the ocean,
a contradiction to the sand on which it sits;
artificiality’s extravagance encompassed
in a delicate
Just as its maker,
Under azure of neon and amongst
the life in its Technicolor,
diverse, rare, immigrated;
Its foundation’s fluid is
submerged and alloyed into into the ground
that by itself is too loose for roots of its own.
We don’t look in;
And in that
what one tends to miss
in the mesmerism of the bubbles’s iridescent surface
is the reflection of an absence of light-
and jagged maw that lurks int it.
This premises is under surveillance.
The sharks muse at the spectacle too.
Glassy stares of dilated slits follow the prospect of prey;
Ignorant onlookers included.
There is no reason to actually follow through with function-
Like everything else in the sphere,
The belly of the beast is too full
to ever consider capability in the drift of their daydreams-
the thought, in itself, is empowering enough.
What is an aquarium after all,
But a simulated entrapment
of an interpreted reality?
I bet the sharks don’t have any questions regarding who feeds them.
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This poem is about the Dubai we dont see- the one that everyone tends to forget about when caught up in its extravagance.