Tapa Inca, feather wool robed, lace gold sandals,
Frescoe palace...mightily colored.
Shadows.
Known shadow, shaman whispered, hooded low
Eyes...
Blank cocoa leaf clouded...
Tapa Inca, Atahualpa, took her hand, and, kneeling,
Pushed it below water...mountain snow fountain.
'Lightning feel you? Reach Ancestors for you?
Feel me dead-walk with the Sun? '
'I feel beginning all things. Yes, Son of Sun.
Gold slaved him lies.'
Tapa Inca looked Eagle upon the mountain...
'Lies now, lies. Up, Life, stand. Keep you
Beginning.'
Tapa Inca, Atahualpa, feather-walked
The Path.
And, when first he
Saw Dawn last...
Tapa Inca saw
Dawn forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem