In the dry air of San Diego,
And the bright sunlight,
On top of Iron Mountain,
In the songs of mockingbirds.
I smell humidity today,
With storms gathered around,
Tall shadows of snowy peaks,
Reflecting the cuckoo songs.
The banks of Kali summon me again,
The footsteps left behind even before I knew shame,
Like a kite anchored away,
Magnetic force pulls me again.
Far gone are the childhood friends,
And dust and noise have consumed the land,
Chasing upon my own shadows,
I must but run before the sun goes down.