Walking through empty corridors of time, looking askance
as memories are hung upon walls while remembering those
picture-perfect times that have all passed from our minds.
Through the years, steady, lively tempos keeping rhythms
safely tucked away in catacombs of our minds, already hav-
ing been etched upon a photographic screen, a silent and
long walk crossing the edges of life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem