The wasted land,
Where the birds Sing,
but the people cry,

The purple city,
Burning in yellow
The cruellest month,
Which is flames mix with cold.
Sickening my mind all of a sudden.

Late winter sky is about to cry
conquer in wind,
Amber-hued, sunny and hot,
The owner of our secretes,
Hiding from our grieving eyes
Sinking in greyish blue cloud.

I found the best moment to write,
Right after melancholy moments.

From his smoothen skin to her so mean eyes,
Born something unknown desire to have,
Every touch of his, soaked in alky ash.
lets fire up that moment with unspoken truth.
Be as you always been,
Be that lover and don't be change

There was fear and the fire
With the suffused enough heart, like unbreakable
With the cried enough eyes, like compassionate
To each other, to the sea, which seems
The illusions lay before us on land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful
Neither joy, nor love,
Nor peace, nor help for pain;
Scattered the violet and blue light
Away from our eye sight
In this lonely city,
Where struggle and tenderness collide,
Swept with complex evening clouds.