By Ahmed Latif
Distilled fog chokes the mountaintop.
Icy air soothes frosted limbs; a permeating embrace.
Still waters commemorate this vibrant solitude.
Buried under the roof of the world.
Death is no reprieve from our dreams.
The people, the city, and everything they are owed.
An endangered ideal labelled a new disease.
The silence ends with a choir of storms.
Faceless stars watch, too scared to light the way.
They hide behind clouds that paint the night sky white.
Wounded birds chirp at the dawn of our destruction.
None are immune and nothing is benign.
Hold your principles dear tonight.
Ruins hold the remnants of life.
No city is built to die but they all do.
Comrades and saints in a necropolis fit for two.