Oh what an earth stretch
Of stationery paper
Lying spotless
In seismic grey
Dusty
Pretty, prepared by men
But a masterpiece of the omniscient
Awaiting the mighty
Fingers of God’s palm
To seize his pens-
The clouds of heaven.
And spell a will
For a whole generation
And men stare
With bated breaths
As the ink sieves off the pens
And sifts
Into the solid paper
In colorless cascades
Time laps
And paper turns
A magical green
Smiles conjure
Men’s demeanor
Here in the azure enclosure
Enveloped in rift valley
A stationary paper of Parak
In asphalt green
A will is spelt
Men may eat
Live and laugh
For another season
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem