On the long table
curved shadow
promises thrown around like stale pieces of bread.
From the city alleys
the wind whispered
about empty stomachs waiting for morning.
The road dust is full of holes
dancing in the dark
where the black cars
sped off without a sound.
Buildings swallowed the sky
while the earth shakes beneath it brittle and mute.
The trees fell without a song
Rivers no longer carry stories.
They steal the flow
replacing them with rivers of odorless money.
Where did the loud noises go?
Have them buried in envelopes
or drowning in glasses of wine
that sparkles under the party lights?
Time spins with a strange boredom
the days folded like old newspapers.
People are just numbers in a dark room
whispered by a fate they did not choose.
But resistance is hidden in the streets
in unseen steps.
A small fire under a gray sky
waits in silence for its moment to explode.
The city is like an endless desert.
In his heart, the fire never goes out.
And though the night embraces him tightly, Dawn will come
slowly but surely.
