Along the gravel walked the solemn sea
Apache!
The attack-call!
The brain confused and stress will not
Yield yet
And in as proportion direct be
Restless
I saw the green frothing
The anger red
The clothing
Before the bull’s eyes.
The white matador I saw
Turn round and round
The cloth
I saw the white matador
On the ground
Turning round and round
As dust turned red.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem