The twilight is painted
In a picturesque view.
The streets are
Back to desolation,
The cars went back
To their stations,
And everything was
Back into such
A beautifully crooked
Order.
It was just one
Of those moments
Where you catch
A glimpse of heaven
And you take little
Photographs of it
Timid ones,
Demure ones,
Even the brazen ones
Until you
Arrive with such a great
Caricature.
It was just
One of the moments
Where I am told
That I am not
Alone.
That I am not dead,
Nor bone-tired
With brokenness.
It was an ephemeral
Taste of the heaven’s
Dew.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem