On the streets pale I look carefully to peoples faces like
regarded treasures of secrets, anxieties and anguishes.
Beautiful and sad things that can lighten the world with sincerity.
Close to a side bench I think about thinking and it comes to mind
that sometimes better is to denied it, not think.  Thinking is too much
if there's a lack of life. Loosing time for a trip calling me and I think it
like it was possible to think and understand such a thing that is not yet.
Time passes and long coming home I find it not, for there's no home in here.
Home is a reign of unwillingly solving life by inertia of others.
For if it is so, my real home must be there in the unknown.
Being enslaved by no one but me and be courageous, sympathetic
and friendly with whoever crosses my path. 
It is others that can shed light, share and comprehend that life happens
for all and for me at the same pace if we have each others eyes to see.
Divided I stand but the road is coming so I must go.
Never know. But life is never knowing.