Gloomy windows in white streets.
Warm, feverish lights in the dead snow.
Silently falling through dark alleys,
calmly resting a minute before melting,
the snowflakes, in coalition, advance.
Peacefully walking, pedestrians, shiver.
Like a prayer, their bodies, hurry,
committed to the march, wondering,
which is the joy behind the curtains:
which soup, arms or heart rejoy
in the patient wait for the loved one?
or
what hell, war or grief inhabit
those walls, stuck forever in sorrow?
Wanderers nod as they stray further away,
looking for their own windows in the night,
the dark of night, with gloom inside.
