Let me repair what remain
from my autumn years,
Before my footsteps moving
towards those ultimate tracks,
towards those days when
my half luck recites a segment
from songs of sorrow,
and then erases my squeezed fear
in the darkness of grief like a mirage
folds in the silence of songs
those folding days.
Ah if my wishes come true
I'll desist the tears for whole year,
I'll read seven verses,
and leans on my cold,
Counting what remains
from my autumn years.
Then watering vainly from my eyes
The remains of those nights.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So much beauty in this beautifully written poem. Nicely done!