When someone quickens his step, you think
at any moment he'll be ordered to halt.
When someone raises his arm, you wait
to hear the sudden chains of a handcuff.

When you look at the city from here,
among the populace you see no one
with any dignity or pride. No one is aware.
Each young man walks like a criminal,
as if the scaffold's shadow were on his neck.
Every beautiful woman's bracelets mark her a slave.

There are flames dancing in the farthest corners,
throwing their shadows on a group of mourners.
Or are they lighting up a feast of poetry and wine?
From here you cannot tell, as you cannot tell
whether the color clinging to those distant doors and walls
is that of roses or of blood.