London UK In Smog

London UK In Smog

London wakes beneath the smog,

a city breathing through grey.

History clinging to every brick,

as buses roar past each day.

The air tastes thick with memory,

coal dust and hurried lives.

Footsteps echo generations,

just trying to survive.

Faces blur behind scarves and coats,

eyes fixed forward, not kind.

Everyone carrying private storms,

in the back of their mind.

Sirens sing their constant hymn,

over cups of takeaway tea.

While towers scrape low hanging clouds,

claiming space to be seen.

The Thames moves slow and patient,

watching empires come and go.

Holding secrets beneath its skin,

only the river knows.

Smog softens the sharpest edges,

turns harsh lines into haze.

Giving even broken buildings,

a moment of grace.

London does not pretend to shine,

it survives instead.

Worn beauty wrapped in concrete,

alive, exhausted, fed.

In the smog, the city endures,

loud, lonely, proud.

Still standing, still breathing,

among the restless crowd.