I wandered through the village
in the woods of densely formed trunks
and I was told that it is not a forest
but a tree, I drank sweet tea
under the tied up aerial roots
and the thick foliage above it
The woman I spoke to, laughed
at my wonder and took my hand
She led me to the middle
where our surrender embraced the trunk
which was too thick for four outstretched arms
The red ribbons touched our head
Back on the terrace on the edge
where the young trunks in the lake
form a living canopy
we saw a flight of parrots
The birds were shouting at us
'No Hurry', they yelled every time
when they passed in the bright colours
of their message: 'No Hurry!
Be Wappy! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem