Must we remember
The whistle's approach—
Israfil will blow.
At the final station
Of this train we're on,
A change of tracks
To another world
Awaits,
Departing right on time.
And this train doesn't care
What's in our pockets—
It leaves only smoke behind.
Passengers,
To their surprise,
Will find there
Only what their hands
Have sent before:
Bad or good,
Ease or strife.
On the new train,
Comfort or burden
Depends on how
We are molded here.
MyKoul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem