invain struggle

Outside this city away from the metropolitan there is a hut. A dewelling which dewelled escaping the claws of capitalist time. In the stardust, the sprinkles of light at midnights, the inhabiter of the hut; the foresaken old man - on the support of the stick walks out to the world. His eyes are weary, and his back is bent under the unflourished dreams; Dreams of epochs - the epochs of hope. The stones which stumble against the stick; the stick which stumble against strangers, is cautious not to brush against a squattering anguish. Disquiet headaches which roam on the dusty trail that vanishes into the woods are restless again. Blind old man must find his way back to the hut once more, untouched by the presentiments of this night. The stardust will settle down soon. The cries are loud - the bitter pleas of fallen mercy is raising its head again. A forlorn scream fills the qualm air. The stars and their dust are spectators of the misery, as he turns and starts the voyage back to the dewelling, which has dewelled by escaping the claws of the capitalist time.