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The city is gritty, dark, and hard.
The subways rumble on and on.
The rats scurry as the people overflow
Onto the station and up to the neon show.


Outsiders look up, locals look straight.
The hawkers haggle, the hookers wait.
The traffic rushes scornful of the streets
Marred and littered with a million moving feet.


And yet the congregations grow.
Worldly masses turn and flow
To money as muslims do to Mecca.
And pilgrims walk amidst the glimpses of gods in Tribeca.