What time of the day it is
Is probably improbable
Except that like some ancient walls
We fall and crumble 'gbiim' belly-wise!
The sun that rose over us
In the morning is now casting only shadows
Filling each moment with loneliness
While we await the dawn with unsung songs
And the only words we could hear
Which our weak bones could bear
Are emptiness, bad dreams, death,
And a chill breath!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem