Paris

Paris is not just the city of light,

But is the city of many souls.

The city of artist dreams and

inspirations of many dreams.

From the salons of Aristocrats and

The commune, the small village, who

become a district.

The canal St Martin, to the eleven district

where dreamers leave. To the bistros to

cafes, to the intellectuals who stop to ceases.

From the aroma of the spices of some many places

and some dreams.

But dark day, when the Antisemitism

who is part of Europe, was revived with the same

hate name of a God, or a Prophet.

Now in the Seine, not only carry the forgotten dreams, the pain

And the cry of 135 souls (and counted- to the many injure soul and body)

a city in dark where the symbols are in the dark.

And sadness because one dear to think, to draw, to enjoy the pleasure

of  meal, the taste of coffee, or to listen sound.

Or to buy a meal before the Sabbath, or come out from school

The angel of death waiting the little girls, and pick by the hair,

and took away.

Bur even the lights are dimming, and quite, sobs and whispers,

the day after, the sound of hope, joy of smell of the coffee

or simple walk—Paris