The Ghost Town
As the wheels of the carriage rolled by,
red dust disturbed,
vision hazy and unclear,
a face looked out of the carriage window
to stare at what remained
of a once beautiful and bubbling city.

No stray cats or dogs or rats
or children playing on the streets.
No happy sounds of laughter there
or old men remembering days of their youth.
Now the town lies gloriously desolate,
forever deprived of its former glory.

No longer are shops open to the public
neither are markets functioning efficiently.
Streets are now deserted roads,
once beautiful homes decorated by dust.
Their walls adorned by climbing plants,
spider webs providing makeshift curtains.

Even the sun shines with blazing fierceness,
making one wonder if she's angry.
She's had no choice but to shine and stare
at the atrocities carried out by men.
For thousand of years she's looked and shone
a sorry and powerless unwilling witness.

At night silence reigns like a king,
no one is home, that much is obvious.
Only eerie sounds are heard,
of doors creaking on loose hinges.
Nobody bothers to close them up,
it seemed their occupants left in a hurry.

Night is feared like a dreaded disease,
fear can be tasted in the mouth like bile.
Walking is now short unsure steps
with an occasional glance behind the shoulder.
What remains of my beautiful city
are deserted streets and empty homes...