Always I travel by the same way,
Up and down, or take the parallel one
Which is a residential place.
To the net expecting a friends mail,
Or hoping that my poems appear
On the page; the site which I browse.
As I walk towards or back
Bounded by a line, perhaps my limits
Are indicated by the lose gravel.
Many things I notice on my way
Some are happy – insensible to hurdles
Some with obscure eyes sketching their life.
I’m too a walker, expecting good news that it
Is yet to come or never’ll pass on my way.