In backyards things grow
Un worrisome of the
School kids in the school
Yards, bathing in ripe
Open abutments picking
Chicken poxs,
Feeding foxes grapes
Climbing up on the
Chains of grandmother’s
Graves-
A thing with horns,
And red eyes
Appearing at the window
As sugarcane burns in the sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem