When the city buries its head in the pillows

With the sigh of relief aloof from any anxiety,

When the sun hides itself behind the buildings

I feel within me a traveler, restless to set out.

 

Traversing the alleys narrowest and broadest

Behind many houses of fighting spouses.

With the pair of my feet, I head in the ways

With thoughts: revolting, resolving, restoring.

 

Realising within me a silent night at this midnight,

Flickering street bulbs and the barking stray dogs -

Push me forward deeper and deeper in those alleys,

Yet, fostering the fear of finding a blind dead alley.

 

Hearing the sounds leaking from the water pipes

Creaking boots are unable to beat the crickets in hide

I find no way to go left and right and to straight.

So, decide to read again the rhetorics of the same alleys.

So, decide to read again the rhetorics of the same alleys.