Its not a sanctuary that I want, a forest it is that I desire. Not the manicured lawns and the trimmed hedges. But the growth that is wild, a form of limitless forms. Roots that spill over from the sidewalk and break the monotony of direction. Yes, a living, breathing forest in my city that chokes the roads; breaking their will to go anywhere to let live the paths that go nowhere. Those strangler figs, that have a foothold in the sacred spaces of life the roots that hang from high rises threatening to strangle the living room. The leaves, ominously closer to the sunlight, than the windows that feign the delight. This murderous nightsky, this perennial scavenger of stars, this inverted cityscape, deviant reflection of our mind, illuminated but devoid of any light. In here shall a forest take root snubbing the citylights, letting the darkness prevail and the stars shine bright.