Streets of Songs and Sunsets . . .

The street is golden, bathed in flame,
As sunset whispers freedom’s name.
People gather, side by side,
From every culture, far and wide.

Their chatter hums, their laughter rings,
A symphony of simple things.
The air is soft, the night feels near,
And love is all that lingers here.

A gentle breeze, so light, so sweet,
Comes dancing down the cobbled street.
It strokes my cheek, it lifts my hair,
A gift from Caspian’s breath of air.

And there — a man with weathered hands,
Unfolds a tune that understands.
The harmonium sighs, alive, aglow,
“Bela ciao, bela ciao…”

The crowd falls quiet, then sways along,
Hearts unchained by the rebel song.
No walls divide, no borders stand,
We celebrate as one, this land.

For love is here, in every face,
In freedom’s dance, in warm embrace.
An evening street, a fleeting time,
Yet infinite in pulse and rhyme.