The Wandering

Stalking the silent streets.
Hunting the prey.
Listening, waiting, motionless.
Silent as the surrounding sundown.
Wandering melancholy over streets,
Twisting through crowds and spice stalls.

Busy streets with rushing people.
Always rushing.
Not safe for the wandering.
Onto the road they slink.
Rushing cars all loud and fast.
I cannot look –
Goodbye, I whisper.