Here, always
in our back garden
the clouds form
themselves into a cauldron
& the sun
a white hot ingot
is flung
fiery into it
burning a hole
in the sky
as if God
(the sleepy sod)
has dozed off
& forgot
to put his cigarette
out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hey, this is so amazing amusing little piece 'God forgot to put his cigarette out' :) You made me laugh and love it :)