Self

Before these crowded streets
the silence of the night that prevails
the yellow moon, as if swollen with tears
it wept all day, in the sun
the loner that walks these dunes
knows no patience
sees no gain, vanity
all in vain

Winds that talk a language
surround him till,
he understands
all that is in the past is
but the present back in time;

Lost in the dream
ever prevalent sounds of yesterday
haunt his soul,
nightmares of sorts he fights
wakes up to his sordid ways
gets on with his chores
breaks off with his past
till the sun sets on him
like yesterday night