Song of a Broken City

I enter my city
with blood under my feet.
I walk by the lane, flinched.

I run- run into daughters,
into mothers,
who breathe grief;
who walk with their shadows underneath.

I see fathers, sons
resting in empty coffins.

I blind-fold myself
as I walk by broken homes,
unmarked graves,
and mosques,
where now no one prays.

I run into my broken city
with broken dreams.
I knock every door I know,
“Where did all the blood go?”

From a distant sight
I see, the only saint alive
humming in a damp tone;
“The long tyranny is over.
Only His name lives forever.
Come my dear, this city has died.
The sky is asleep.
Come my dear, let’s weep.
Life is gone.
Spirits are alive.
Come my child, let me burry you under the soil.”

Haa-aa-laa-laav!
The black birds;
every dead singing along.

I see him marking
my grave without a name,
I turned insane,
“How will they find me? You mad saint!”
“Who is left here to find you, my dead child?”

Everyone has died here
for His name.
So, sing with me,
“The long tyranny is gone…”

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