I walk in the humid hours
of narrow streets, of gentle evening.
I am enveloped in darkness and
my shadow disappeared.

Tiny, artificial lights are inferior.
Some ancient houses left remnants
of bricked walls and the lake cannot
explain the reason.

I look for a crowd of mine but everyone
went into slumbering, busying peacefully
and engulfed in mortal dreams, and where
I stand is the country that is safe.




About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
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