Warm Ice, Cold Pain

The broken monk won't stop singing.

Old typewriters don't function anymore. 

Tall skyscrapers get illuminated at night. 

Inside, there's nordic lighting,

Warm colors, there's coffee in the pot, And duck breast sizzles merrily on the pan. 

Outside, a big vehicle zooms by. Saola, has his head on the head rest, smiles in sleep.. who is he thinking of ?

 A police van rolls up, near the police station. Men in uniform walk out. Armed officers surround the vehicle, Pull out the traffickers. Asks the girls to come out. The frightened deer come out in the headlight. 

A million hungry eyes on them,smelling like pigs with the rancid brothel smell. They walk down to meet the policewoman. She asks their names, she's ready to note.

"Fatema", the girl says,

The policewoman moves her fingers fast, but;  

The Old typewriters don't function anymore.

 The broken monk, with a broken heart, keeps singing.