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? Vesna Arsenich