Time to hang the coat on the hook,
obey the Librarians rule and look
at the roaring darkness till dawn.
Perhaps through blinding night it chimes:
Aubade is worth two lifetimes of
rummaging for a philosophy of death.
There, is the Poetry of protest lost
to the generation weary of cost,
rushing ever nearer to the un-examined end;
where all days collide and darkness brims
he gladly sucked through thickest rims
into the ever decreasing circle of his eye.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem