In this haunting city where the summer is humid and also sticky,
the sun blisters the naked skin
As silver Beads of sweat trickle
Like sweet gelato drizzling in the blazing heat.

There is poetry in the streets
Of graffiti, mellow lights and yellowed walls.
Of cobblestones and of riches
Dazzling every inch of this old city.

The air is laden with soulful music
Of long, lost love
Of passion
And of words rolling melodically and melancholically in modern Latin.

The souls gone by
Of artists, slaves and martyrs
Wander eternally in this ancient city.

They whisper softly in the evening wind
Knowing every tourist and every Roman,
Enchanting gently to their soulful being.

So with longing I think of Rome
As i feel the whispers in the evening wind.
Hypnotised, spellbound; knowing that somehow -
i  am rome.