If you have not
Been to my village
Then you have not
Been anywhere at all
My village sits atop,
Atop a mountain groove
That has a shape
Like that of a plateau
With a serener beauty
Other near by villages
Look tiny, closely parked
And scattered across
The atmosphere is warm,
But windy and airy
Like you are elevated
Other smaller mountains,
Seems to surround,
Going around my village.
All seems to be shaped,
Design and craftily,
Put together by a sculptor,
At night,
When the moon comes up
You see light,
My village is lighted up
And you wondered,
And you see a shadow,
On the ground.
The shadow of a hand
A giant hand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem