Sculpting the clamor
I sat at the bank of
devastated night.
Again and again foliage grow
on the drab existence
as the crumbs of all dreams
shine all over
decorating the dark sky.
They all notice me and accept me
as a tolerable crazy one.
The crowd is wonderful
to watch and have a fun.
I wait for my night till
they all go to sleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem