Walking the wretched roads, through the maze called Bangkok

Swollen feet, protected by tough sandals, but these are the consequences of walking on those uneven wet pavements, and rushing across the roads to avoid the murderous heavy vehicle. Yet, despite the decades, I can't stop travel dependence, on foot whenever possible. How can I truly absorb the sights and sounds of life, especially if I'm on a bus or a speeding taxi.
I see and meet the homeless, the urban poor, almost at every corner of the back lanes, even on the busy main roads where the high-society are found, rubbing shoulders with rich tourists and loaded expatriates, with the black smog rising in the air.

Dusty faces, wrinkles near the cheeks, rough dark hands, wearing clothes befitting abandoned rags, the poor are still struggling to make decent wages, and hopefully one day, secure stable housing in the city, in this colossal maze called Bangkok. I find myself, alone, wandering the streets even at such ungodly hour, where Thai Buddhist shrines lit eerily alone in the night.

The night brings about loss, that wretched feeling of mortality, and the remembrance of the past when life was kinder. Transgenders, female sex workers, roaming pale-skin tourists, tired-looking street vendors, and the list goes on and on... the night is alive at that corner or this street; bright eyes, dull looks, faces shaped to represent their emotions. Some stare at me as I walk by, other smile or ignore.

I feel tired, somewhat unsure for the past few nights of my sanity, and I smile to no one in particular. My feet has made the destination, I am back at home where my head will soon feel the comforts of a pillow. I shall rest, I eagerly seek one, just for tonight.

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