Stained evening.
We can't wash the years of earth.
They are too deep inside us.
It's late in our body.
There is nowhere to return.
Behind us:
A dry river.
Dead fish.
Still hours.
We arrived to a dead-end:
Our loneliness.
- -
From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The helplessness of human being that I see in this poem enjoyed.