The Cicada

A cicada sings about the mango tree

In the late afternoon of the concrete jungle.

I feel the green smell the sound of car horns

And the laughter of bystanders,

The city is like an altar

The old lady

Written smooth lines of her face

As a new poem in old paper.

The cicada still sings an old song

Song of my old backyard

Where once there were several songs
 
It many cicadas sang

In the late afternoon the city-lilac.

The cicada sings a sad song

Memories of the old mango tree.

The city has a poem written

In every alley

On every street

The lines that trace paths

Age every dawn.

The cicada still sings

Renew every promise

Not to be sucked into the oblivion

Growing old is losing old friends for long?