I signed the back of a lottery ticket, filled the name and address clearly.
The night is sleeping but still I am awake in a Gas station to fulfill the boisterous vehicles.
I hear a whisper in my decaying wallet.
'Hey! Dear this is not the winning ticket exactly but a day would be appeared and bring you the lucky chance soon.' The lottery muttered.
After a lazy yawn I speak to myself;
'Nowadays the papers talk much while the poor people shut their mouths as nothing to put in for digest.'

* To Gheorghe Zamfir!
Your divine magical pan flute's notes impress me how to grab the fleeing life?

nimal dunuhinga

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-bitter-pill-implies-where-i-belong/