Lasagna

By B. Hernandez

I’m known as the city—Lasagna.

The pages of history are folded in layered sheets,

stacked with war, victory, and bitter defeat.

As you stroll through my cool, uneven cobblestone streets,

bear witness to the monumental relics—

a culture transformed through timeinto what now stands before you.

Enjoy the company of my people.

Discover who they are through echoes of long ago.

The beauty surrounding you did not come without cost.

Beneath your feet lie trails of blood—

spilled by countless men,

while their women flooded the ground with tears.

Some battles were won.

Others—lost.

The pendulum of power swung toward

whichever house could hold it tightest.

As one empire devoured another,

each new reign swept awaythe splendor carved by the last.

Ghosts hum through narrow corridors,

singing their sorrows,

whispering legends of valor.

Their legacy remains—

in treasures once buried, now unearthed,

to make way for the modern world.

Each new season brings the scent of old decay

blending with fresh invention.

An ancient world intertwined

with the ornaments of a new century.

Let my walls cradle your steps

as you wander toward your next destination.

Wherever your path leads,

pause beneath the oldest tree

and see through its eyes—

the fashions, customs, and beliefs

drifting like wind through the years.

I implore you:

Reflect.

Honor those who walked before you.

You stand where they once stood.

And if you carry reverence with you,

perhaps your legacy too

will be admired—

by the next wanderer

through my mighty streets.

The streets of Rome.