i'm trying to go up to that hill
to stretch my hand in victory
to scream to the world i did
face the heaven and wait
for lightning to strike me
rain will pour vengeance
every time i think i chuckle
why the hill not the river
where i got my first swim
where i caught my first fish
where i took my first kiss
where i dream start to finish
no sense of doing but shadow
lurking silently moonlit below
if there's left of teasing sand
running through my veins i would
for dust to settle before darkness come
is a known cycle we should overcome
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'if there's left of teasing sand running through my veins i would...' primary metaphor of your poem (i'm not sure though: -))