Sitting on the grass and leaves,
a sad thin figure, folded in solitude,
flicking a cigarette, passing it through pursed lips,
inhaling each time with an increased sense of sombre turmoil,
peaceful disquiet.
Sitting amidst the setting sun,
his dark skin is wrinkled and worn,
a reflection of his soul,
where to go treading on now foreign land?
Where to find peace now,
along these roads?
who will understand now,
spirits losing place,
not knowing where to go,
he feels the need,
to hide his face. [1]
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