A speaker wanders through a landscape of ruins, unsure where to go or even how long they have been walking. The "undecided winds" that stop and start again mirror that confusion: nothing is steady, and no direction feels certain. A crow screams overhead, and the speaker can't tell whether it is announcing disaster or giving a warning. Because the crow can't speak plainly, the question stays unanswered.
The poem then widens to the street, where full dustbins sit beside the line about "hungry soul," hinting at hunger and neglect. By the end, the speaker has lost track of time, days blurring into months and maybe years, and can no longer say where they began. The final line, where paradise and hell can't be told apart, lands as the heaviest moment. The mood is weary, uneasy and disoriented. The broken, uneven English suits that feeling, since the speech itself seems to stumble as the speaker does.