People from North call them, Wanderers of East, for they swing with the rays of hope, until the day ends in West and they bloom night at the South of border. (Read Caption) I bared myself to the open sky but the land reflected the inner me. I was visible to the world, but the shadow caressed me. I hid the moon in the mirror of night to let open my veins in the poetry of sunshine, for the half soul in me,
