The wind gushes beneath
And wheezes above, disappeared
Up the the azure sky;
Where clouds paint a mural
Of white and grey and black colours.
Though not seen by the eyes curious of man;
The wind power shows
In the clouds,
They stretch and spread like
Sisal sponges
And heaps that lie like
The hare's mounds planted slyly
With his wits.
The sky rumbled a crumbling sound
And the wind's power holding forth
The elders look up
And look down on the divination shells
No, it will not rain
Buttressed by the trellised
Flashes of thunder;
The line and sea quals quarrel
And the north easterlies prevails southerly
And the dry season is here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem