At the End of the Day

At the End of the Day

The earth, with its mud-streaked, faded gray shawl,

Has draped the folds of the horizon with deep pathos.

Birds fly from the depths of the clouds,

As if heading towards a welcoming house where evening lamps are lit.

Through the dim veil of sunset,

The endless time's bride casts her frightened eyes towards the sunrise,

Lighting her golden lamp, perhaps waiting for her love,

Who left with a promise to return.

Sighs make the sunset's realm heavy with clouds and mist.

In the light of the lamp brought to the door,

The eternally waiting primordial maiden's mournful eyes

Reflect the tears of the void,

And some longing lover laments,

"Everything is empty,

The sky, the earth, tonight

The universe's compassion

Cannot shed a tear for you."

Hearing this, I remember

How many times I have gone to the temple

And, like a trivial beggar on the street,

Prayed for God's grace.

"Open the door, oh worshiper,

A supplicant has come to your door."

Opening the door,

I see the deity in the shrine,

Offering blood and tears.

The deity said nothing.

Oh, these eyes

Shed no tears for me,

I lament,

Is this the temple of a love-deprived god,

With all compassion emptied?