Once a war veteran, who goes
with an old haversack which carry the belongings
hanging on his shoulder.
On his way towards the pedestrian crossing
stands at a bus stop a long time
and waiting for the train called 'Desire'.
Which is scheduled via the Cancer Reservation.
He lit a cheap cigarette, pulled a big puff to bottom of his lungs
and talking to himself.
'It seems to be an exile.'
Sounds of the locomotive echoes as ' passengers get ready please,
those who want to disembark at the station of farewell to the existence'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very compelling and powerful poem painting. I hope that somone was there to speak a warm word to him for the journey. Kindest regards, Sandra