Near his table rests a glass of water;
Through his window he glances at passersby;
He observes and always waits, waits, waits.
Bitterness nourishes his being;
Subjected to misunderstandings
And false airs of ‘people’
He is a prisoner.
He sits, hands cupped around his chin
In his dreaming, his spirits escape
The world of hardships
And travel in … Read the rest