Thirty first of December
Last minute of the day
Listening to fire sounds
I have been wishing you
For many years
It is monotonous
But I do and in return
You do as well
It is a dream
It is a habit and
It is a paradox
In our reality
Life is calculated and
Balance is forwarded
Same account of the life.
But we all
Love to dreams and hopes
Even in prison and hell
Wish for tomorrow
But I am tired to continue
Pretended lie
In such reality
You and I may realize
But hate to agree
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem