The heat that summer oppressed us
as day after day we travelled along
a flat unbending road; and bleak utilities
hemmed it in all that dragging section.
Past petrol pumps and hangars
that were candy-striped, ablaze,
and compounds packed with tractors,
it urged us on to town.
The road was a scar on clean
terrain. Further off, beyond
slopes of pampered vines,
the mountains, white-capped,
soothing, were coolness glimpsed
through the gauze of distance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem