The Fortnight of Fire
has finally come again

Finding me supine,
gazing up the smoke
wrapping the vegetation of dusk

The old barges are ready to depart,
carrying the tar of our previous year wishes
I hope the spar won't collapse...
May the wind be propitious

Now the currants in the garret
are ripen enough
Can't you hear their rattle
amidst the dead of night?

Now its time for all the lidless eyes
to sprout again
For the Fortnight of Fire
has already begun...