The air looked
startled by the thunder
lightning ripped
the sky apart
easy as paper.
Later the evening
wore an ugly bruise
as if Heaven
had been badly beaten up
& left for dead.
The horizon remained
tight lipped
even the crows
refused to caw.
The trees said nothing.
The man
nursed his pain
like a drunk
over a slow gin
retracing his footsteps
to the car
sat inside
as darkness fell
& cried
softly to himself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Captures the plight of the drunk well