The Dead City

The afternoon breeze winds its way
Through the lonely streets of the dead city
Blowing dry leaves around, this way and that,
Singing to itself, a meaningless tune
Of joyful, self-absorbed madness.
A madness without beginning or end,
A madness that is as vast as the sky.
This wind once blew through other cities,
Cities that were alive and cities that died.
It murmurs as it enters the empty rooms,
The auricles and ventricles
Of the dead heart of the city,
Speaking of the futility of life
And the endlessness of death,
And laughs quietly to itself
Immersed in its own immortality.

The dead city sleeps, conquered by the wind,
The wind that walks its streets like an emperor.
The dead city sleeps, embraced by the wind -
Dead and yet alive,
Lost in the unfathomable ecstasy
Of surrendering to timelessness
And to Death.