Still the music sounds and the
Sound is one of eerie humming.
It be night.
Delight is weird and raucous.
Ghosts and shrouds in pencil
Lines pass by flitting.
For them the steps and stairs
Of old Valletta are
Gymnastic exercises.
The waters dark beckon their spirits.
The ebb and flow their breathings.
The paintings on the wall
Of faces ancient as in a film
Projected.
As fast as come as fast
They go.
The night is weird, the night is sweaty
For it be nigh summer.
And the heavens are heavy and dull
Though with no clouds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem