TUMULTUARY

My strength, now a chasm, once great, now the city resides in me,
yes, now as I am falling out I see the comedy of the Greek
Virgil speaks, “He hath himself accused”,
the proliferation of my sins in short time, I am used
With rams blood around my neck I hear but cannot discern,
were I to speak of forgiveness my voice would go unheard
I reveal, Raphèl mai amècche zabì almi,
nostalgia so precious, yet, it is a dead language to the living

Paint by Pieter Bruegel the Elder The Tower of Babel