Beyond the red sands of the desert
where hawks and condors care not soar
there is a long forgotten palace
its crumbling ruins a sad eyesore
none can recall what was before
Young lions slink in evening shadows
and offer here and there a roar
beneath the rust of weighty metal
a bell no one would now restore
no purpose and no daily chores
Now scorpions and hardy creatures
appear and rest on what had been
a symbol of respect and honor
sweet sounding knells once much esteemed
engulfed in sandy evening dreams.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Daily chores! With the muse of life. Nice work.