I see sunset in a spire of flames
one sacred pylon
as a rigid silhouette amongst
eruptions that cause the sky such pain -
forest-kingdom assailed
from a storm
of fire without boundaries
its glitter moving in sparkles
carried by the rush of August winds
a dry crackling
racing to keep pace
shuffling smoke and trees
in the scent of charred wood side.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem