I beg in the lanes
Of my lonely past,
The sparks I lost
In the rising dusk.
Crowds of mechanic skills
Pass every while,
But I search for the one,
That fed me
Drops of her dying thirst.
Every new day
Bring no shine to me
Only the rings of
Clicking British annas.
Every new night
Brings no fear to me,
Only haunts of
Forgetting her vivid smiles,
Her smiles of agony.
No one is fond of me,
Only darkness and its kins.
Nor the silent doves
Bother about me,
Or else they had once stop
When I cried,
Consoled when the scars pained,
Just as once my mother did.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem