I was about asking why the fetters are
Tightened more on our feet of progression

I was about asking why the bright day
Suddenly turns black as we approach the crossroads

I was about asking why every tread thrusts
Us back the winding way we came

I was about asking why the caravanserai
Collapsed, and we lodged at the pococurante's...

The north soon lost its spiralling, good winds,
And we, eastern, brought with us our monsoon.

We are famished and will soon turn poachers.
And only when in thirst we drink of the

Marmara, will I crane my neck no more
And stop asking why.