In a clatter of steps fell
in a weak footing helpless
grip no longer bear the fatigue
endless waiting for the sky
the sun is reluctant to return
sweat and dust felt thick
in the middle of the old town full of noise
young wanderers do not find a way
to a diamond-like spring
like a mountain tirta
in the afternoon it was still as usual
befriended cloves of tobacco
staring at the endless pier
with the singing of seagulls going back to the peninsula
tomorrow I'll go back even tired of waiting
menikerikil small street
no lost destiny
until the identity is attached to my shoulder
let boredom get bored
until success becomes the rhythm of life
and blooming in spring