The air is still with
Some sinister aura
Only roosters crow
Birds are pensive in their moods
And the trees yawn yearning
For the wind to blow in them
The herdsman is guiding the cattle
By the side of the road where
Men sullen in their faces
Women bursting with tears
And children half clad and dust ridden
All are touched by the lost
The news is bad
That Jackson slept
And did not rise this morning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem