I touched the dying sun on his forehead
before he parted
his eyes were still and cold
with a blazing fire instead
He was broken down and pale
there was nothing left to weigh and scale
how he wondered about
his defeated tale
I had no reason to put forth
the only sense I could make
to tell him how
stars go from south to north
I watched him standing on the verge
how clearly his heart was shown
diving in and out in the urge
Perhaps, I may regret his departure
this will be clear in his absence
the time may not come back
like spears of the blind archer
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem