To Be or Not to Be

To Be or Not to Be

In the quiet hum of a London street,
the winding Thames mirrors the ages,
and a lone card‑holder on a curb asks –
am I the pulse in this neon hush,
or merely a flicker in the gutter's slant?

The city breathes in two voices:
the hiss of a shopfront signs, “Open ADORABLE”,
and the distant call of a night‑club drummer.
Is my soul the drumbeat that keeps London ticking,
or a silent advert, pausing at the brink of existence?

We bend our heads to the curtain of thought,
as Marlowe’s whisper crosses the stage –
“To be, or not to be, that is the cryptic query.”
Do we choose to bloom in a garden of electric altercations,
or retreat into the attic of our own doubts, draped in velvet?

Merrie‑weather or bleak, the choice lingers,
the wind in the cobbles guides the uneven sway.
‘Tis neither right nor wrong, but the heart's cadence,
a heartbeat that echoes – yes, I chose to be.