The Old City
Walking on streets of the old city,
I eavesdrop upon voices of the past.
The worn out pavements of moss and stone
reverberate of glory, defeat, and pain.
Oh, Ancient walls of monumental towers!
Beauty of your prominence, and abundance
of your memories can not deceive me
for I know every single rock
on which you are founded
smells on blood, tears ,and putrid bones.
Leave your triumphs to ominous crows
that wait upon new pilgrimage of army leaders
who shout men's history in three words:
conquer, demolish, and pillage.
Listening how whirlwinds play
with autumn leaves on your square,
I am asking you... will roar of the armies stop?