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A doleful shadow

prevails Aphel's thin atmosphere

shivering, it drifts in the moaning winds

which are raising the grey dust of a perishing planet

On a flat hillock of stone

stands a monument

grey and blunt from millions of years

that it barely managed to exist

in solitude and monotony

on a dead star

Over its smooth surface

that perhaps once was adorned

is gliding a shadow

that seems to search for something

and as the sun goes down in infinite distance

barely bigger than the other stars at the firmament

and Aphel's repugnant twilight

must yield to total darkness

the shadow enters the monument

in order to wait

in order to persevere for aeons

that do not know any today nor any tomorrow

and no change