When the day is o'er and the sun traces the abyss deep;
My eyes to the east are fixed waiting in earnest for another day.
As dawn blossoms from behind a sketchy hill
a sac of chances break before me:
a chance to gain,
a chance to wrestle the 'whys',
a chance to escape the pain,
a chance to wonder the skys.
Another day to tread in hope,
to trace the path of steady living and belonging or a day to slide through bushes of a lonely hill worn out and expectant.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem