I saw the drunken man on the 16th street <br />used the dark red raincoat <br />He was drunk without a head <br />(but) riding his heart <br />Walk into Glen-arm <br />Blinded his words <br />There was no wind blows <br />But the words always stuck in an old Oak tree <br />(from) A distant land <br />The pieces of memories <br />Powerless into sound pieces are now <br />in the country that everyone should speak <br />Even to speak on his own <br />In the wind, even in passing by people <br />who do not know <br />I see the drunken man, <br />sitting in a pushed wheelchair <br />grumbling about love <br />It's not belong to the wind but <br />to whom I will never know <br />I am just a traveler, traveler <br />who recorded all not by malice <br />I promised the cool breeze of the mountain <br /> <br />(16th Street Denver,21 Oct 2010)<br /><br />Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-whom-it-may-the-wind-blows-you/
