You only seek shelter from the chaos of the scorching afternoon sun;
But in silence of the callous nights, many crippled dreams often burn.
The thirst from the indifference of the cold nights burns more lips than the solicitous warmth of the noon.
You see the desolate walls turn pale in the haunting moonlight?
Ironically the same place where weeds blossom in the mellow sunlight.
Yet you yearn for the ugly darkness of the nights but the beauty of my afternoons you do not see.
And those flowers that you naively trampled down tonight;
Keep them as souvenirs, till I rewrite their destiny.