The pillars have crumbled like tears
hardened by the fissures.
Rubble stares like frightened eyes
afraid to die although dead already.
Where is my want to communicate?
Finding every empty room too shallow
to echo my screams, I keep silent.
Why am I walking so composedly
in an earthquake-devastated enclave?
There is so less to live for.
The windows let in the wind that shakes
the dust from its resting place:
we have been nomads in every life.
If only we could have shelter for a change...