On the tip of the highest peak, I stood silent…
With an eagles vision I searched for a coloured movement.
Men and Beasts mingled with green, once serene but now a baron.
With great pain I wanted to look for life,
neither the wild nor the saint… but a deep breath.

My search diverted to the power and moustache of that time.
Swords of variety, shields of strength and roars of wisdom.
Peopled passioned the war and embraced the valour…
never in their mind the spark of fear.

The sculptors that flavoured the rock with beauty
The temples that delighted with amity,
the land that blossomed the sovereignty.
all in the past… the History.

To my dismay I see nothing…
only the rocks, the broken art and
the crowded temples of dilapidated sculptures

Suddenly the words of an Angel cracked before my ears,
“To see it grate my dear, Better you have your beard be white”.