I signed the back of a lottery ticket, filled the name and address clearly.
The night is sleeping but still I am awake in a Gas station to fulfill the boisterous vehicles.
I hear a whisper in my decaying wallet.
'Hey! Dear this is not the winning ticket exactly but a day would be appeared and bring you the lucky chance soon.' The lottery muttered.
After a lazy yawn I speak to myself;
'Nowadays the papers talk much while the poor people shut their mouths as nothing to put in for digest.'
* To Gheorghe Zamfir!
Your divine magical pan flute's notes impress me how to grab the fleeing life?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem