My home

 In my home, at times, the scents that rise

Through nature's breath still gleam,

But barring them,the holes comprise

Of cement,asphalt, in a seething steam.

In my home, I love the sky's embrace,

The white and blue in song,

The iron,and the cars' swift race,

Have silenced it,now babbling along.

My home, constructed on the hill,

Thirsts for its sacred trees,

Against the green,the concrete chill

Drew down its steely canopies.

Withered in my home, the soul's own light,

Deprived of our sun's holy ray,

For with the terraces in sight,

An endless shadow made me friend,I say.

I long to see the sea's grand show,

Proud waves in bloom,unbound,

But instead of this,I'll lose my sight, and know

The smog,the exhaust, shaves all to the ground.

And in the boxes, souls lament,

Like open coffins,shared the same dark fate,

A mass of faces,life long spent,

They chose to leave existence desolate.