The winds shredded the clouds
In the form pleasant to behold
Like palmwine dregs in a Pot
Fixed to a pruned palm tree
Lying down on a tapper's mat.
There are also hues
Of reddish yellow tampered
With blue green and gray fragments
Of clouds hiding the sun
It is no more and swallowed
By the horizon
Rooftops giraffe
Into the horizon
In vain able to see the sun
A giant derrick stretching his hand
To touch an assortment of clouds
But it twilight
Till tomorrow morning
And from the east
The sun will again visit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem