So how does one get to a smart city,
When the traffic is such a bane?
Ah, one leaves the traffic to underlings,
And rides a bullet train
BADRI RAINA
I have found the way to beat the blues,
And be young, bold, and witty:
While wise ones go to Innisfree,
I will to the smart city.
Smart city begins where good sense ends,
And cantankerous wisdom dies;
Smart city is our version of
What St John saw in the skies.
Not twelve types of precious stones
Will encase our paradise,
But a thousand gleaming tinsel chips,
Enough to blind the eyes.
Smart city is not meant to make us see
Into the life of things;
It says “leave troublesome life behind,
Let things be your heartstrings.”
So how does one get to a smart city,
When the traffic is such a bane?
Ah, one leaves the traffic to underlings,
And rides a bullet train.
Is paradise ever meant for the hoi polloi,
Despite what the good book says?
Thus principles of political economy
Must follow such godly ways
As destine you and me and a friend or two
Wrapped in good fortune
To book our golden pads in Smart city
Nearest to the moon.
From thence to look down upon
What bleeding hearts made of the earth—
A globe of struggles and sufferings,
Of mere human death and birth.
