Oranges and Aubergines

By: 

Victoria

Taylor Roberts

When first arriving in London at the age of 20 I was shocked at how the constantly lit city (unlike my small coastal home town) bled into the sky, pushing away the night. My strongest memory of arriving in this country was looking up at the evening sky on my first night here, awed at its unique 'aubergine' hues. A few years later, on a dawn walk home through central London from my job as a nightclub bartender, I wrote this in my head, committing it to paper just before falling asleep.

Wisps of grey weave woollen seams
Through oranges and aubergines
A million yellow beads of sight
Have cast their glow into the night

The changing hues of satellites
Usurping heaven’s pinprick lights
Whilst wooden limbs unfurl their leaves
To taste the air we waste like thieves

This gravelled hum on every street
That echoes life beneath our feet
As washers, cars and fridges drone
That we are never quite alone

And only ever half asleep
Through our souls its tremors seep
Invading sleep and tainting dreams
With oranges and aubergines

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