Every Friday morning,
I walk along the unknown streets
the dense miasma drapes my vision
Trees silently stand beside me
I have not seen a single shadow
of person, of life. I walk and walk
Suddenly, the lights of car
fire at me on the crossroad,
A red lamp ceases my footsteps,
and inhale the fresh carbonic air deeply,
death will come near to me.
You know, I walk behind you, every morning
with a fresh mind, in a fragile body
And walk for life, searching miserable path!
The moist of airs play on my face with crinkle lines
You know, I walk and walk
And find not a short-lived road
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem