The magical days, the magical sense of beauty. The magical days, they fly away,
in a brick of a wall, in a frame of a picture, in a shot of despair, in a tune or a whisper,
it vanishes, it fades away, that vibe of magic,
inevitably, the beat goes on. The clock strikes hours, and we appear differently to the others.
Those magical days move one everything on Earth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem