Low celling, a television showing something funny actually not funny…a constant shit…

Some old songs coming through the windows, 

loudspeakers are really loud today. 

You can’t hear birds…you can’t hear people’s feet, 

you can’t hear the rusted machines, dying from the venomous frictions. 

You can’t say whether it’s sunshine or the waves of lost clouds; outside.

A silent trance…all broken troopers coming home…coming to their soils of warm milks. 

I am in the middle of a road…I want to lie-down here, 

I want wheels besides my ears…and a cold wind with some wild raindrops over me. 

So many days I have dreamed of this moment; where I find my relatives on the road…

we all finding each other and getting done by the acceleration of mortals…

I am the last, I know there’s no one left to go after me…

I am the last. 

I don’t know how to make colonies for future…I don’t know how to be a magnificent successor…

I think I am going to disappear just after finishing this last cigarette. 

Rain is coming…rain is going to flush all the ruined bloods off the street, 

I believe in rain…I believe someday again a small speck of a light will come through this effervescent shower…

And it will start a bonafide affair and peel the banalities off songless people.

…………………………………………………………………..

Photograph: Google.