Rather be the one on leaving
than to see off a leaving one,
stood by a frosted window
o make farewell.
Rather not wave hands there
but rather go on a deserted street,
maybe dusty and windswept
than to stay praying for goodbye,
with no one in one's behind
by whom to be seen off,
I'd rather be the one to depart
all by oneself.
Once taken to on the way,
keep on going heading for somewhere,
once in a while on one's leaving,
shedding back quick glances,
about once, with flickering bits of smile,
waving hands,
on the barren field spread
under freezing wintry sky,
teardrops, no way to be held on,
left unhidden,
all ones around make themselves
something to leave,
on each way back, having seen them off,
one by one,
with vacancy in hands, unware of winds,
Baahraam that'd come and go,
ah, where shall we go to be
at the platform for us to go and come.
Anyway, I'd rather be the one
who is to leave the last,
having all around oneself
well seen off one by one,
stood alone to the last, all by oneself,
with no one by whom to be seen
off nor anyone to make farewell,
all alone, I'd rather be the one
that is the last, the last one
who is to leave.