My house full of reeds on pastures of sand
Is shaken to its strings by the punches of winds
That'll leave no stones unturned.
Even as I rage against tremors on land
Or curse our skies with bootless old cries
The tiles on my roof will shiver and slip
Seeing as the clouds have gathered their hails
That'll shatter our statues of brass.
There in the canopy of soot-smeared roars,
Are waiting in wings all lightnings in store
That'll start rather soon their fire-breathing dance
And leave all my tenements in charcoals and ash.
Singing in vain my lyrics full of hope
That had weaved their notes with particoloured strands
I walk to the waves now seething in hate
And brace for a crash that is come.