An afterevening is there
In-between this night
And this very dusk, when,
You have nothing to do:
No book, no song, no drinks— nothing
Is more boring than talking oneself; so
You should never try to do that
And I can assure you: an afterevening
Is that time, when, you are really alone
A lonely bird is swimming throughout darkness
And this mild sound of Its soundless wings
Is the only verse you can share with the universe.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem