There is a wet smell in the air;
it has been raining while I slept.
The sulphurous autumn skies burst
drizzling over lonely roads,
making them gleam in the dusk.
The mynahs chatter, shaking out their wet feathers.
It is colder now, the wind nips at my fingers
It is not long till night falls.
I lie in wait
suspended in uncertainty;
The wet smell is in my being
dampening my heart as I lie still.
A parrot shrieks; it is time to fly home.
It is time. Time to fly home.