On cobbled stone, whiff of chestnut and coffee scent
nostalgic walk through early darkness of winter eve.
Eternal city carrying hopes and fears, lonely Advent
tears of long wait. Beauty midst some tired facades,
stepping over canine excrement on potholed side walks.
This place still touches deep things; speaks strong sounds.
Indescribable works of art, monuments to cherished past
witness to weakening faith and martyrs courage, take hold
of thoughts, broken only by siren shrieks of racing succour.
Surprise at every corner, down every winding lane, what’s
always been is seen again, with freshness and new wonder.
This place moves hearts, and opens spaces in the soul.
Great tombs that birthed new culture and fresh hope
weighed down by mighty beauty, straddled by giant
buildings, speak still, without words, of courage, trust,
and grace; silent screams of simple souls that longed
to love and loved to long for truth, to serve goodness.
This place draws one beyond what is, to what will be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem