The trains don’t arrive; 
the signals don’t drop.
On the iron rails.
the python is gone to sleep.
The ghosts of the shadows rise
from the tea shop; 
from the  opium-eyes 
of the security guard.
The thirst does not end.
Oh! What a beautiful time.
The shadows are in the secure laps, 
on the cement floor
The night stands
on the platform, 
wearing a black coat.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem