The Burning Tears
Who ever saw the fires of hell would be able to attest
It’s burning from the centre to the peak;
All the mountains are covered with the heavens blanket
Where will i ever see a mountain this high?
Our buildings look so small;
How did this splendid art form
The olds call it the work of god
The pagan say it the power of nature
The face is wrinkle not of age but,
The burning tears of sorrow
I see swallows flying motionless
I look at the flowers that give its beauty
It’s beyond those plains where they walk tirelessly
Even the scorching sun has no effect
Evenings covered by strife in families
Nothing looks to be affecting the lilies
Neither the awls cannot complain
But to I it’s burning like scorching furnace
The tears that have made the face a playing ground
This is favour they are giving to the grief
These are tears of salts mix with despair.
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