The fire burns like a loser, they would say,
Flickering, bereft of the full glow of the sun.
Remnants of life, drowned in their own sorrows,
Some fluid, some with a mind of their own.
Dreams linger on like an aftertaste
Foretelling the nature of a weary city
With a green silhouette and a crowded landscape.
Little drops of rain, hopeless as ever,
Bring forth the dawn with silent timidity.
