With all the scattered suns in the city
I have migrated to the golden field of autumn
Where the sparrows will suddenly shine in the freezing sun,
Chanchal and Chanchala will add rice to the tamarind husk.
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With warm emotion in the chest of the narrowing river
I will surrender myself a long way,
You will then stand over the inertia of the midday meal
I then stood motionless at the mouth of your form.
A faint line of light ripped through the fog
Gone are the calls that hit the north wind
I am now descending the stairs of pain step by step.