three comrades with buffalo hair

three friends combed the city

just as the night shone in the dark

stalking the five troughs of the Nestrang nest

which is odd

light is subdued on the back of jet

three scouts, horned friends

sniffing green weeds, dense miang

for the sad soul

go home without home

passionless leafy rhythm

the bitch is deadly

turning the streets into a river

buildings and shophouses floating like canoes

flowing into the fire estuary ...

five nest ropes

sucking the fog for light

put a trap to death

an unmindful fate

ignore the wind

and lost sense at the time

I'm a trough

who installed a secret seven-hole trap

for the necromancies that plundered the holy prayer

even though the moon's circle is getting odd

flashes of light gilded bitter words

and the promise of death can not be uttered

three friends

cornering the road towards the temple

paraded the street completely

to a half-hearted ancestral grave

I pay homage

now, the light of a moon

away from the city

bewitching a sack into a sawdust

flowing into shallow rivers