The houses are torn by asphalt roads.
The fountain’s dull streams have faded in the heat.
The scorching air melts other grey domes.
The splinters of the signs make my eyes weep.
The lungs are squeezed with burning air.
The marry chirp of birds is quite down.
I’m feeling sick because of sharp grin’s bare
That shows its residents the turbid town.
The river crawls trying to catch the riverside
With sullen anguish, looking to the west.
The stares of the walls are dimmer than the muddy light,
As if they want to slake with drink their thirst.
The buildings whine under the yellow fronts
Nudging each other like the mob of tombs.
Where the windows look with blackness of their eyes -
The languid moan of faded gardens is heard.
Ennui with fire burns my sole.
Your love with heat fatigues belief.
The close embrace predicts no hope.
The heavy sigh gives no relief.
Your black glance pierces with rough thorns.
Your dry lips whisper lifeless words.
I want to cross the high threshold
And then to feel fresh waves of cold.