There was smoke smothering in the hut
And hunters didn't want a non initiate to belong
But the usual strong reeks of the games' fur burning over fire
And the hound's wagging tail
Strongly told passersby that
Some hunters had a good catch
More evident the next time they passed and saw palm fronds stained in flecks of blood
And the balded vultures who visited to scavenge on the remnants of a great kill
For nothing is hidden under the earth below our shining sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem