The trains don’t arrive;
the signals don’t drop.
On the iron rails.
the python is gone to sleep.
The ghosts of the shadows rise
from the tea shop;
from the opium-eyes
of the security guard.
The thirst does not end.
Oh! What a beautiful time.
The shadows are in the secure laps,
on the cement floor
The night stands
on the platform,
wearing a black coat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem