As if thousands trumpets that makes
leaps on the road
Screaming their soul being burnt by
themselves wildness
Up to be overcooked after freed from the
jail of time
Though through their fissure of eyes can
be witnessed
About their fear for the sun when be
aware from drunkenness
Up to they feel there’s a big grave in
the noisy city
Being quitest than all kinds
of jail-Sri Wintala Achmad-
