Where damped washing are hung
often upside down,
where strayed dogs play cheerfully at noon
and howl savagely by the night
where streets are narrowed
and nights, stretched out.
Amidst of quietened alleys,
and lamented walls,
where people sleep on pavements
and rejoice the filth.
The town weeps I’ve been told.
I hear it’s calling.
Every night, I pack my things,
and escape this wretched place
I stride into the dark,
running for the nearest train.
I almost make it but
— noiselessly,
the town follows.

―R.

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