These clouds have false pregnancies,
They evaporate everyday to hover up in the sky,
The farmers wait for these pregnant clouds
To rain, but instead
They emigrate into an unknown land,
These passing clouds keep
Hovering over our heads, but suddenly
They make up their minds to leave that cursed land,
Clouds leave the wasteland looking for
Another land,
As long as these passing clouds leave slowly into
Their unknown destinations, then
There will no pretty rains here....!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem