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.