http: //soundcloud.com/diana-van-den-berg-2/parched-music
The cruel sun shone.
The rich brown naked backs
rippled with muscles
as the strong Zulus worked rhythmically.
As their backs straightened,
the picks rose in an arc above their heads,
stayed a moment, poised like the heads of rearing snakes
and descended with a crash on the dry, baked earth.
1961
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem