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one was there and one wasn't*

one was there and one wasn't
under the dark sky*
no one cared about our sorrows
under the umbrella of the sky
for our loneliness
there was not even one bird left
dancing of night shadows
on the silent walls
was informing about the death
the destiny of the stars
is going and going again
the story of being homeless due to cruel hands of the wind
night, darkness, and wind
crying till dawn
tired and exhausted of distances
poor hearts
all machine humans like motionless and soundless stones
one was there and one wasn't
for the leaflessness of the garden
not even an owl would have sung a song on the roof
from the crow in the stories*
that was on its way home
nothing was left but a fist of feathers
stories are black and ugly
all repeated and bitter
those were the stories, those were the days
we're lost in the fate
in the middle of unawareness
where are we in the story? by the way, we must be remembered
 

empty town

it seems that there is no one left in this town
it seems that no passenger sang the night song again
there is a dead leaf in the corner of a paving
they say there is no hope for trembling hands
the moon rests in peace in the corner of the nights frame
and it seems that it's dying from this silence
autumn tiredly takes away the buds
look at the sky another star is dead
in our empty town the walls are bent
thousands of headless trees have grown in the alley
a man in darkness with no sound at all
at the top of the wings of fly searching for the light
he crazily went towards the sun while laughing
they say he was picking stars from the dark sky
he went by while his hands were dry and empty
the touch of the dawn sadly an imaginary page
he crazily went towards the sun while laughing
they say he was picking stars from the dark sky