This morn, this safar...

This morn,
This safar,
Is another journey to the calm,
Like a treading to the greenest
Of green,
Like a cool breeze
On me skin,
Like a waking up on road thing...

And me packs up
as if my tent,
The motorbike there for me stands
And the road
Still running straight...
To the hills,
To that distant flowery heaven,
Where mist by the creamy golden
Calls me
To
Be
In
That lust
To make the journey till the last
Of another begin...

And my boots
Rugged
Torn
me wears
Again
For this morn
Calls ...
This creamy gold
Calls,
This sky
Calls,

And
me packs up
the tent...

For the road still runs straight...