Sleep

As he steps into day 21, 

the night around ignites with a strange brilliance, 

while obscurity fades into daylight, 

deepening the shadows. 

Among the billowing smoke, 

behind the rumble of trains, 

the temple chanting its songs, 

resonating with the shrine's sacred hymns, 

the church tolls its bell,  

and the mosque calls to prayer.

He begins to walk aimlessly
in an uncertain direction
looking for direction, 

without being directed.

He sleeps not for the sake of dreams
He rests in anticipation of the dawn

He sleeps on a mattress made of a bench

covered in white longing cloth.

White. Like fresh snow. 

Like a soft cloud. 

Like creamy milk.

Like a luminous shadow.