When all is done and the quantity of salt
In my body is checked,
It will be a huge heap that has wrecked my nerves
And heightened my blood pressure.
I will look back
With joy and regret and wish I become a lily
And relive the youthful years over again.
It will be a futile thought
For now is the time for reckoning in solitude;
Flying on the wings of melancholy
Waiting for the final call
When dead will knock on life's door
Take me away in peace;
Leave an image of a hero or a villain
In the mouth of the living world;
Then I shall have gone
Talking about me will be like
Struggling a shroud with the dead
For I will be gone and deaf
To the rantings of the world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem