The fortress crumbles,under her own fat, neglected bling.
I see her green, black n red
veins protrude out in an evil twirl,
varicose has gripped the pillars
which once held up the lofty
buyers-world in a spell, the seller's market.
They now crumble as rust eats into
the downed shutters of the courts
which once inspired awe, then lust.
Now a haunt where old men sit
and smoke away dreams;
the rush, only from pyre fumes
climbing up the decayed escalators,
to the sunroof that splashes an eerie Neon
onto the alleys of a dying bastard.
Spencer Plaza in Chennai is fighting a losing battle, it’s obvious. A fight for survival as its world slowly shifts to the road across.
|The plaza's oval central sun-lit lobby, where one side reminds us of the first Spencer building, which was built during the time of the Britishers|