before the drought
there was a long season of rain
slashing leaves like doubly drums
like tin and shingles beating
it was like a commotion in the sky
then came a dead silence thundering
making ears bend in awry
every flower-head on the farm
was piddled to dust and with a sigh
sunk into the grass and the sand, where it hummed
like bees did once among chrysanthemums
and asters when the drought of winter drowned their voices
we never dreamed of this and has it now
nor was the waking to it easy
we took the pain to our gods with an oath
called on our young to girdle their loins
to be jealous of death and watch the sleepy brow
of smiles in every slumber and heart at the door
we remember the Flood that once roared near
and our spirit remembers being mute
when They came and took our Voices away
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem