The car humming is subtle and eager,
to cross that line of state,
drawn by some age old unseen rulers,
now belonging to administrators,
perhaps brilliant as loners,
or as good as loaners,
and’s why want to protect this culture.
Drawing these lines, as it always has been and will be so,
the day gave way to evening low,
the Land again turns to barren and sandy blow,
people on it seemed had somewhere to go,
one of them me I have a ship but nowhere to row,
sailing, cruising and unlike me not talking,
not even to myself,
while,
Time it is to me. Space it’s unto you.
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