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?
