The Sun-torch lights the red Arabian sands,
And shafts of flaming light reflect off skyscrapers.
Every building like a bar of bright gold
And every road like still-burning ashes.
The heat and dust fuse in the dry exhaustible air.
People, melting in sweat and inhaling fire,
Cut down to exhaustion, to the ashes of the road
And to the scorching sands of red fury,
Stretch their hands out, their dry mouths open
For the sparkle of water.
A tiring day after another passes by,
And everyone's like a flame in a huge fire.
Weary faces and stumbling feet will go on
Till Summer has quenched her glaring anger.
Oh! its hot, hot, hot.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Glaring anger of summer quenched/very poetical! ! ! !