The Xmas Eve Poem by Tengre Asasiun Gurun Tengre

On the street, the wizened flowers are rolling
On the road, and December winds are blowing,
And tattered vinyl tents are waving,
To the subway, the shrinked people are walking.

Now the city is the holy cemetery,
They force us the public rage and sorrow,
And won't let the bluebirds go to the faerie.
Uselessly the neon-signs are glittering till morrow.

Till the last page of the calendar, they were written
Full of the funerals and memorial days,
And they try to add the new day, the hardbitten,
The old worry their sons for future days.

The Christmas, it's not snow and the bells dumb,
But the many crosses're glittering between
The buildings, suddenly today, if He does come,
Look on the sky, on the wall, I lean.