Wind rumbles in loneliness. 

Only him and me now. 

We often sit by each others side,

not talking…not demanding anything out of our sold souls.

We see blue lotuses from here and old women hanging their clothes in hopes of warm lights. 

This has been a good day. 

No work…no crossing ideas of productivity, 

‘nothing’ is beautiful, ‘nothing’ is effortless. 

People love roads and make home by it’s sides, 

we kind of smile for this pretentious architectures. 

Sexless night of whiskey and smokes coming,

my wind…my friend has promised to stay with me…

I guess tomorrow where this street bends south

I’ll go north from there, 

there’s always honey in the opposite sides,

there’s always tough and honest trees in the opposite sides. 

I don’t from where all these people come in South…

too many cold and crooked eyes…

but then again reproduction doesn’t always mean happy fuck. 

Soon I will go and buy my liquor and dwell into my usual writing phrases,

but untill then it’s better here with only wind and no other hearts and no other poems.

……………………………………………………………………..

Photograph: Osman Rana. 

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