In the drunken violin tune, the evening is trembling,
After the long-frozen time;
The drowsy eyes of the quiet street stuck in the snout
Stays in the border of evil dreams.
The wonder of childhood chandeliers-
At the end, draws the white paint of light.
It draws the limerick of the fallen leaves;
It conjures up the abstract images of suffering.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem