From the horizon of the sun,
A rainbow is forming,
A collage of resplendent beauty of
Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo and Violet
Meticulously arrayed like a column of army parade
Beaming the skyline with ray of hope...
It might just rain again, says the pessimist
The children are out again, playing,
Yelling one to another
From every corner of the village square
Making a cacophony that could not drawn
The mooing of the milking cow
As it bids farewell to the setting sun...
That's a sign of bad omen, says the pessimist
Early, they retire, every child to their huts
For fear of being hurt by the bad omen
Announced by the whoooing of an owl
Now every child is crouched under their mothers' covering
Like a hen protects from a hovering hawk
Tell us moonlight stories...
There might just be an eclipse of the moon, says the pessimist
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem