Like a watershed crying atop a steep mountain hill
Going down by the throw of the height
Faster than the side outlets of the dome
So many of the streams seeking a side kick
Long down the office blocks
The impetus of the flow caused sharp edges in the corridors
As the pebbles and soil are dragged downstream from the pedestal
The king of the crown sure to follow suit by the reluctance of the crooked path
Small streams of the low downhill run deep
And leave a small spear to protrude with the effect of a bee sting
The battle is lost because of the steadfast roots
Whose origin is far back and hard to reach by the shovel muscle
26 August 2013 N Nkuna
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem