Sol 5.6

  1. Paved with stone—some of it lies scattered,

    while the rest, for smoothness, rivals a saw.

  2. Its lights at night are the glow of fireflies,

    scarcely sparing wayfarers a fall.

  3. Its mud lies heaped up like its mountains

    until its people make it past March.

  4. No sight delights you as you pass through,

    to turn you from staring at the filth.

  5. Dust the winds stir up there, bearing

    for the nose a stench that harvests lives.

  6. Likewise, its waters gush from their spring,

    sweet and crystal-clear, flowing by day,

  7. until, upon reaching its people's dwellings,

    they become a mixture fraught with dangers.

  8. Within it, the germs of pestilence breed prolifically—

    a billion in every bottleful.

Sol 5.6