The Nowhere Place.

In concrete grids where millions press,
A hidden square of wilderness.
A rooftop lost to sun and rain,
Where pigeon, wind, and dust remain.

A crevice in a railway wall,
Where mosses knit, and lichens sprawl.
A forgotten lot behind the store,
Not worth the key to lock the door.

A hundred years of human haste,
Just past the fence, this empty space.
No law, no fear forbids the tread,
It simply dwells inside the head—

As "nowhere." While the city's roar
Spreads just beyond that unseen door.
The map is full, the world seems known,
Yet secret, quiet earth is sown

Between the pavement and the sky,
Unwalked, until the stones untie.

That poem is about the paradox of untouched wilderness within human civilization. It paints a picture of small, forgotten spaces—a rooftop, a railway crevice, a vacant lot—that exist in the very heart of crowded cities or managed landscapes.

Its core idea is that these places remain wild not due to inaccessibility or danger, but because of human perception. They are so ordinary, useless, or overlooked that they fall off our mental map and become "nowhere." The poem suggests that true wilderness isn't just about remote frontiers; it can be a quiet, resilient piece of earth that persists simply because it's "not on anyone's list," enduring through decades of human hustle happening just a fence away.