Every city has a Godzilla

Waves rise in forgotten sewers

as I clamber upto the surface and

rise in the depth of the night gazing

around,measuring man's progress

I am the sum of the purged memory of a

million sins that you must execute daily

Ambling through this labyrinth of streets,

(seems Man is the mouse who knows well his maze)

ducking flyovers ,brushing past antennae

lashing my tail around,cautious not to have it

tangled in the power lines shooting secretly

through what I imagined to be empty space,

I finally seize my moment of mischief,I raised

my rear limb high and with a thump,planted it,

failing yet again to draw attention,leaned over,

an eye pressed to the window at the 93rd floor,

finding man and machine curiously conjoined and

I made a mental note to resolve this mystery of an

apparently new species on my land.Often on a deserted

road,I readied myself for a rightful roar,only to cough off

a gust of wind ,the sound of broken glass inducing guilt and

fear even in a monster like me ,one night thus,I coalesced

myself and seeped into the earth and for many ages hence I slept

tight below the soporific drone of the overhead traffic and

like how tall trees suck the soul of the dead to sprout up high

in graveyards I have been feeling the weight of skyscrapers

rising,Now I know If I lie asleep for too long,I shall find myself

irrevocably crucified,yet I feel trapped in the cage of a wild dream

or if your priests were to diagnose,possessed by an evil power and

should I wriggle and writhe to exorcise this ghost,the earth would

quake to wipe all out and who then will I terrorize when fired up

by destructive whims?(No,I am not a benign monster,like

King Kong-a ludicrous figment of your imagination)Not many

ages from now then,I will get to be God and have temples to my name

unless one of you gets to be the Hero who presses silly buttons

riddling me with missiles,now you know why I don't want to share the

secret of who had the rare turd mountain rooted to the roof of your Mercedes

or why some mornings the neon lamps seem crooked and unsteady and a

few windows of Liberty Tower shattered,nor will you imagine the paint

smeared across the billboards could have been animal piss.But I can tell

you for sure that this morning when the pot-bellied stockbroker misstepped

over a mouse darting across the pavement,it was me who squealed in pain