The Road Is Still Quiet
The street was still quiet, where footsteps sounded strange
and the lush, undisturbed grass
of the old hut, still pitch-black
long-abandoned.
The walls shone brightly in the moonlight
still, still and straight.
In the eyes that no longer saw the light,
a mother could be heard crying blindly.
The church bells could be heard faintly in the distance
far above the city, the melody of the kyrie eleison still sung
and melting softly, as all was silent everywhere.
Atambua, November 28, 2025
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