simmering heat on the horizon
cracks on the ground i am on
no sign of life, not even a grass
been like this thousand years pass
could be mountain, riverbed
where wild animals once hid
but now everything is dead
dried up fossils in rocks bed
i could still hear their cry
before the life, the river run dry
i could still smell the lush vegetation
before they are burn, cut for consumption
now i could feel the dryness of my throat
burning heat, cooking my head and my foot
turbulent wind lifting me off the ground
relentlessly, pounding my face with sand
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem