An ode to a submerged city

Here are a couple of poems I have written this month while living abroad. The first one is dedicated to Utrecht and the second one narrates instances of my daily experiences living in a student accommodation for the first time.

An Ode to a Submerged City

The sun has escaped me for five days and four nights
though the tonalities are still present,
so far the buttery sight can be found 
in the everchanging trees and the ledge of the sky.
Who knows where I will find it tomorrow?

Moisture runs through the bones and the air
damp and deluged like an all-mighty flood.
Not even the buildings lay over their root's stasis
in this fluctuating city, they fold upon themselves,
shivering crowd part of a life’s audience.

A conjunction of lights reverberating on polished surfaces
murmurs of the clattering streets say otherwise:
searching sun geckos chatting in terraces 
under warm blankets and heated seats,
short-lived fogs and lasting cosmic nights.

The message of the rustling hum of the roaring howl
paints the emblem clear, swamped with multicolour windows,
no curtains, just light melodies and windy touches,
swamped lakes, chatty crows and bronze oak leaves.
Tender submerged city from the sky or the ground up.

Fruit flies and tangerines

The endearing thrill of a warm house after a long day,
overflowing trash, drenched coats and “I am running late”,
long showers, cookies and overlapping perfumes,
piles of dishes, forever-on-the-verge-of-death plants, 
mixed metals and chunky beads, post-its and “good night”s,
perpetually full washing machines, disappearing bikes,
the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen.
Dirty rooms, cramped muscles, too many drinks,
the warmness of a hot stove and homecooked meals, 
either no keys at all or hanging from a half-open door,
“what's mine is yours”, a stamp card and new coasters,
always running through the door, quick “hello”s,
or the comfort of a line of light coming from below a door.
Everything tastes sweet in a new home.