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.
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