The desolate love breathes awhile.
A mirthless smile blinks at the brim of the lips.
A smile of Sphinx, 
From life it drinks
The last drop of air, 
Which melts in the fire.
Furthermore, the butt-ends of the days.
Wayward running listless ways.
I have measured life drop by drop.
All lies wasted on the fervid prop.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                     
                
Beautiful