Skyward, Still Watching

“Skyward, Still Watching”

In a city climbing ever higher—block by block, beam by beam—the skyline reflects ambition, etched in clean lines and golden façades. Residential towers stand side by side like assembled monoliths, each balcony echoing silent routines: morning coffees, idle gazes, conversations folded in glass.

Below, the highway hums with daily purpose. Cars move forward, swift and directed, tracing a river of momentum across the city’s expanding chest. It’s the song of progress.

And yet—there it is. Rising beyond the reach of scaffolds or steel, a mountain looms in soft silhouette. It doesn’t compete. It watches. Timeless, grounded, unchanged while everything below molds itself around convenience and rhythm.

There’s no clash here. Just a quiet reminder: that beneath every story built in concrete, there’s an older one carved in stone. And that sometimes, in the pursuit of moving up, we forget to look back—or out. 

🏙️ Quote

“As the city climbs skyward in steel and glass, the mountain remains—silent, steady, reminding us that true elevation begins in stillness.”

🏔️ Poem: 

“The Watcher Beyond the Grid”

Rise, rise—

the city chants in concrete syllables,

each beam a sentence

in the gospel of ascent.

Balconies bloom with lives in glass,

where mornings steep in ritual steam

and nights echo in blue television hush.

Below, the river of highway speaks

in wheels and restless purpose.

But beyond the scaffolds and the skyline’s edge,

a mountain stands—

unfolded from time, unshaped by will.

It does not rise.

It has always been.

Not indifferent,

but infinite in its patience.

A silhouette of memory

against the fever of the now.

It watches—not with judgment,

but with the quiet grace

of something that knows

we will look up again

when progress pauses,

and wonder whose footprints

walked the sky before us.