Finally there you are, as hoped.
It won't be too long to feel
the serenity of tickling wind.
No competition, no anxiety, no one else even.
As time changes, your fate will be driven
not the way you thought, but the way you fabricate.
Before your passage silence will trace
what you were, how you did.
Can you deny?
No charming face, not any beloved.
Will you feel cold?
Tomorrow's pain will be too old …
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem