Why Chicago is a Poem

There are countless poems written by timeless poets and writers over the course of human history that often use the seasons of the Earth as metaphors for the different phases and ups and downs of human life. Winter, with its abysses of ice and falling snow, its spine-chilling winds that can freeze your hands in less than a millisecond is a looking glass for the trials and tribulations that are characteristic of living life as a human on this planet. Spring, in an unsurprising contrast, exists as pictures of mesmerizing cherry blossoms and a time for uprising and success in our brains, as 'light at the end of the tunnel'.

As someone who grew up in a tropical climate for all of my life, all of this seemed very appealing when I read them in poetry, metaphors in the faded, quiet lines of our English textbooks all through school life, even using them in poems I wrote myself- but I was always skeptical about why winter was made the metaphorical villain, and why the scorching heat of summer was never employed in as many poems instead. However, living for the first time in the City of Chicago knocked clarity into my head.

Photo Credit- Me :)

The cold winters of Chicago- the unpredictable drops in temperature, the piercing winds that sneaked up on you from nowhere, slicing through the calm skies and atmosphere like a knife, flurries of snow softly perching on the strands of your hair, cheeks, nose and head without warning- it was a metaphor in itself, I finally understood. In this city, 22 degrees below zero doesn't pause life, but rather drives it. It's a city where change creeps up on you slowly, until one day you realize you grew up and knew nothing about it. A city where loneliness comes and goes, visiting you in pangs that hit you when the sun's rays hit just right across the city skyline, walking home across the train station- but also a city where unexpected bursts of happiness light up the walls of your heart like fireworks in the sky.

My photo again, heehee- at UIC

It's a city that takes you to so many places in the world- Hyderabad, Paris, London, Rome and Hong Kong- in one place. It's a place that holds surprises in every nook and corner, a place that teaches you what poems from the 18th century and after always tried telling, penning down life as seasons, in reality. A place where there's no end to exploration and learning. It is a lullaby sometimes, a rap song other times.

If a poem would be made into a movie one day, it most probably might happen in Chicago.