Strange Signs

Walking on these roads

the stones look weather beaten

ruins of ancient civilisation

the monoliths stagger as if 

carrying a burden of centuries

All the time the hills watch 

roaming movements of a world

where the plot thickens 

The hills, the trees and rivers

meditate on a stark world 

where at night the bird prays

and a whole century opens

into abyss of ages, the whistling wind

makes a foray into houses and nests

Man and animal are at peace 

Only the hills brood over strange

signs.