Tonight, now,
in joyous rebellion,
I will shake my hair loose
and pluck
a lightning flash
to wrap my spirit
in the pulse of
thunder-drums
and poetry colours
and slow-soaked peace,
and I will twirl them
around my fingers
and my shoulders
like an untamed, rainbow scarf
and I will dance them
barefoot on cool, wet grass
... till the white thunder dies
... and the clock ticks again
... and the work shouts
my name.
(31 October 2006)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem