It was five o'clock in the morning. I lay face downwards on the bed, eavesdropping Drainpipe's gurgling, Gas-pipe's sighing and my heart's beating. Two washing machines were trembling, Quivering, and perilously humming, A gas stove had a fit of coughing, And the blue fire drops were splashing. Turbulent mahjong pieces kept whirling, Twirling, speedily swirling. Somewhere a television was grumbling The short night of the late spring. I stethoscoped that a flush-toilet devouring All kinds of fashion disgusting. Then the flatulent cesspit started hiccuping, A spasmodic groaning. Air conditioners were performing Artificial respiration for a building. Exhaust fans were snuffing Breathlessly as a pneumonic hurricane. Rust-colored water were still bleeding From the anaemic tubes, infiltrating Into the treacherous crevices, breeding Mosquitoes, blood-lust and buzzing. It's a silent morning… A moon setting, A sun rising, No bird singing. -- http://www.wretch.cc/blog/kamadevas\ --

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