over Uluru
I can almost hear the sun's
new boomerang of light
can almost see those
rivers of rain then the wind
leaving a green trail
even in retreat
the sun dreamed Ayer's Rock red
on its cooling plain
the rock wave resting
under its crest of matter
even the lens dreams
the rock is not rock
that is not the sky either
the bush is not bush
there are no landmarks
but an awful sheltering
in ochre and blue
that is not a bird
perched on another sacred
branch of the sun’s dream
with its eye on fire
this is the storyteller
and she knows everything
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
wild, free, flowing like the wind :)