Lost City

Could it be that where I sit sipping this brew,
Was a home of an empire, the best time drew
Could it be that beyond the modern parlance,
I hear an ancient song of joy and pleasance?

Could it be that the pavements beneath my feet,
Had been a ceiling where jeweled chandeliers hung?
Could it be that when the waves and the shore meet,
I hear echoes of harp strings that once were strung?

Could it be the winds that breeze this way,
Still bring the fragrance of scented-oils and sandalwood?
Could it be that the ports and abandoned quay,
Still awaits the laden vessels of silk, spices and goods?

Could it be that in the stones of this fallen coliseum,
Resonates the ovation to a hero with a marked bosom?
Could it be that in these empty passages,
Gallant men lost at beauty’s lustful gazes?

Could it be that the broken remains of antiquity,
Were merely a deadly war’s abandoned bounty?
Could it be that the temples of golden columns,
Still whispers of sacrifices and hauntingly hums?

Could it be that on the sand seeping through my palms,
Once had flown endless streams of still warm blood?
Could it be that from death saved them no charms,
As their world was immersed beneath by flood?

Could it be that I hear a baffled crowd's scream,
The rupture of erected monuments, and falling pillars of dreams?
Could it be that this land still weeps,
For the curse in which once it drowned so deep?

Could this be a tale uttered in silence,
Of how God brings to ashes a world of arrogance?
Could this be a sign of His might,
Of how from ruins He brings it back to light?