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Night turns into day,
Day plunges into night—
The dark grows deeper.
There is no light.
He gropes blindly through the void.
Amid billowing smoke,
The rumble of trains,
Temple songs, church bells,
and the mosque’s call to prayer...
His feet step without direction,
Searching for a way, yet unguided.
He sleeps not to dream,
He sleeps to wait for the day.
He lies on a bench,
Blanketed by a cloth of longing—
White.
Like fresh snow.
Like soft clouds.
Like milk.
Like a luminous shadow.
