All the dead rise up.
The hopeless restore hope and faith.
The towel throwers picked them up.
Broken pieces being put back, a puzzle is build up again.
Roses blossom with new colour again and grass waves from left to right.
Birds spread their wings wider and sing, the laziness also wakes up and follow the move.
The movement of the morning, so cold, speedy and rushing to a destination.
So courageous to heart-warming they spread like military platoons troops,
attacking the enemy while still sleeping.
Though most of them seem determine, they’re all full of the morning enthusiasm.
The energy of early morning, the urge of getting something better.
Touché, they all smell it, it’s coming.
I love it as it comes behind those mountains.
I love it as it comes above those towers.
I’ve hope that much see it at the back of those broken walls.
I watch it while it rises from the north until it ended up kills my eyes,
watch it until it set on the southern side.
It excites me when seeing some of them come out with a smile and loaded bags.
It worries me when seeing the maturity come with the shoulder down and powdered lips.
Watching them pulling their body back home, that was the symbol of being drained by the sun.
They go with their lunch box full and come with their lunch box empty.
When the sun dawns, their chicks drop.