I watched as the city burned in flames, a phoenix consuming its wings in flight
I watched as the city burned in flames, a phoenix consuming its wings in flight,
the streets transforming into rivers of fire, spirits freed from the cage of time,
politicians arrive like sorcerers, claiming they can tame the wind with words,
proclaiming promises that dissipate, leaves of a season of forgetfulness,
their echo is a dried-up spring of hopes, a river of words that never waters anything,
nothing has changed under the smoky sky, nothing will change in this dance,
the poor are shadows trapped in the hourglass of time, unseen, unheard, in their silence,
unemployment is a storm that strikes mercilessly, at the windows of lost souls,
the homeless are travelers of a desert, an endless wasteland of ice,
politicians, dressed in golden robes, feast at the tables of foreign abundance,
it's a masquerade ball of illusions that never stops, a play of lights and shadows without end,
the masks change, but the faces remain the same, a theater silently playing its piece,
and I, a scribe of this nocturnal spectacle, weave my dreams into verses of stars,
hoping that from the ashes of the old story, a land will rise where words come to life,
and the shadows of poverty are swallowed by light, a light that gives them flesh and bone.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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