Where the afternoon stops coming
Where don't feel anything except own hand
Where the willing sun too awaits for a while more
There my poem dwells
Still when I think of you
The afternoon descends even in the mid-night
Let you stay for a while more
Beneath this Chatim tree is still fervent
Let you keep your head on this breast
The old shirt is perfumed in spring
Today the evening will not come neither the night
Where my poem dwells
Can there ever come
Trifle coldness!
All passionate time seems to me warmth and like the afternoon of Spring time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Awesome expression. It shows the poet's involvement in his poetic work. So much so that the nature is also playing a supportive role. Thanks.