Five thousand airplanes take off for the sky The water in the brook is almost running dry The boats passing the sound Are just too many to count An infinite number Of grains of sand Are passing through Our hour-glass While I embrace the emptiness Inside my liquid holes in the sky By kind permission of a crying wind My infinite whirlwinds of thoughts Are incessantly resting in the grass Behind the hills Minutes, hours, year are slowly passing by We're watchers of the changes in the course of history And as the number of the question mark Along our way increases An infinite number Of grains of hope Are crumbled in Our hour-glass While I intertwine the emptiness Inside my liquid holes in the sky By kind permission of the rising sun My infinite whirlwinds of thoughts Are incessantly restored In the windmills of my mind