Over the plain
The Soul roams
In a transparent veil
Over the plain
The winds are blowing
Dust on dust
All churning.
On a high rock
I managed to sit
Surrounded by that
Ghastly landscape
Plain
And thousand and more
Xerophytes:
They prick
The tired Soul,
The nodding head,
Yet half-awake
Conscious and sub conscious
Pump
For yet more yearning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem