Your voice is like the wind,
Like an anguished current of air
weaving in and out of the streets
of a long-abandoned city,
Crying out a melody of melancholy and loss
Like piano keys in minor, in an empty room
A scream of suffering that no one can hear
A solitary, lonely sound...
Your voice, like a gale, hits me,
and I stumble backwards,
overwhelmed by its ferocity, its pain.
Yet, in listening to you,
why do I feel so alive?