My silent hope awaits your dew, 
to wet the layers, to bathe them, 
up to the clear sky with no dark clouds, 
up to the quenched thrust that remains dead.

As treasures enriched with pearls
removes the darkness of the room, 
and coin of moon drowns 
within that blue sky with so much of unclear smoke, 
to welcome the tints of day in blazing saffron.

The monumental cores, empty halls,
pictureless frames, and bricks that are squinting out of wounded walls,
somewhere deep within, cries your name,
shows demand for fragrance and presence of yours.