may this death would hear my voice
but alas... there are no more roses anymore...
o thee the land, that all of your martyrs left this world
with all the bloody tears in their hearts
and those who left behind with their tearful yearning eyes to meet again
waiting to hear a voice and longing to see a look again, are dazed at the door
but alas...maybe you know it too, that no-one is coming anymore...
I've made my voice assonant with the sparrows without a song
which made a nest on the rusted peduncles of the old trees
may this city hears my song
but alas...there is no more will left for this people to sing anymore...
o thee the darkened streets of this city, that all of your passengers
are asleep in a distressed dream
drowned in a sorrowful silence with dead breaths are passing abased
and their being is going to be destroyed
alas... even you know that, there are no more passengers anymore
no plaything for kids, and there is no will left for me to live anymore
I'm going, you stay...farewell
cause if you stay, there won't be any journey needed for me to go
that there is no ending for its beginning but not being....
© Thymournia, 2012