Are you the traveller travelling through me?
To begin with take heed for I am surely far different from what you suppose;
Do you suppose you will find in me the downtrodden city?
Do you think perhaps you will begin to hate me?
Do you think our meeting will shed blood before its end?
Do you think me grey and ugly?
Do you see no further than this façade, this awkward misshapen structure of me?
Do you suppose yourself spacing on hallowed ground toward a murdered city?
Have you no thought O wanderer that it may all be Maya, iluzjon?