In ancient times
men tried to build us,
on a plain in Shinar
using burnt bricks
and bitumen for mortar,
but they build in vain.
Like a flower on its stalk
we rise into the sky,
shaped to withstand
weather, wind, storm
and even earthquakes.
We wear glass, concrete
and lightning up high
and stars shine at night
on our skin
and humans live
and work within.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem