Firstly treading the local ground
I couldn’t even find out,
That the city was created by Romans,
Who were caroled in many poems.
Scaled stages serve as end of metals
Carrying heft of stuck highway settles,
Sometime were an offence to Her Majesty
What sealed in history as travesty.
When walking in the heart of town
I was thankful to the Crown
For maintaining the heritage
That was being given age by age.
My blossom sense of anticipation
Slightly slid into the admiration.
Despite the canon of the Britain
And how it is usually written
Heaven remained crystal clear,
Leaving me needless to fear
Of drops squeezing out of cloud,
Forming displeasure of the crowd.
Each brick bears the story
Sometimes containing somebody’s glory.
The gaze, observing us so high,
Once was distracted in July.
The mercy was not given to Charles’s head
And the Monument became like symbol of red.
So many people died back then
And this relates to Russian men.
The World War II had put it’s sign
On every single family line.
I knew the city was not harmed that much
But still it has its own loss in touch.
I was impressed by the numbers of statues,
Arranged in the city and being attached to
Different people’s time flows,
Which are shown us in rows,
Composed in many books,
While throwing heavy hooks
Of pure interest to know
What exactly was the time flow.
It reminds me of a place I lived in
Where a lot of things used to mean
The various history periods embodiments
That we can find in written documents.
Stone slabs with many names,
Monuments to creators of flames,
Buildings bearing common nominal,
Museums to compliment phenomenal.
Walking in a city streets
Was amazing instant,
When my heart beats
With no disgust existent.
Pacing from the Eldon Square
To the Tyne Bridge
Inhaling fresh air
And feeling myself like a midge.
Pavements full of steps
Belonging to the legs,
Strolling in the vast of maps,
Carrying heavy coloured bags.