Here I sit on this chair –
With thoughts, thoughts that do not seem fair;
Still, I wonder, where are my good and humble thoughts?
Oh, they have been lifted away – like the rain lifts the summer draught.
When I became a tree, no bird ever came to me.
The traffic light turns green – I chose to stay.
The trees are waiting for the monsoon – like I wait for you, in the long, lonely hours of noon.