From far away,
above the skyline, like a nimbus, it rises,
a dark silhouette, a magnificent spire,
holding the sky on its shoulders.

It rises against a pale sky,

With its muscles of glass and steel,

a straight line that does not tilt,

sheltering all, resisting high winds and gravity.

We see him from afar, and we shrink,

we wonder about the weight he must be bearing,

the storms he must have survived,

to rise so high above the rest of us.

We bow to the name that is on top,

lit even at night.

We drive closer, and the awe remains,

the reception is marble,

his voice is echoing in the wide hall,

the doors are big, and men are small.

But stay a little longer.

Look beyond the lobby.

The air is cold inside,

the windows do not open,

every floor is watching the floor above,

every light is afraid to go out,

lest it get blinded by the sun.

He too checks if his shadow is still the longest,

he too counts the floors below him,

there is fear in the air,

lest someone rise a little taller.

And then you understand,

a skyscraper is not tall because it wants to touch the sky,

it is tall because it is afraid of the ground,

which one day might rise to aspire to go high.

From a distance, it is a marvel.

Up close, it is just a lonely building,

trying very hard to look invincible.

~

Jay Jagdev | 11^th Sept 2026