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.
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.