While I close the gate next to the car
blue-white thunder comes down from the sky,
do smash down with sparks that do run right next to me,
like a bomb, a mortar that hits and do explode
and in my inner-eye the smashing ray is etched
for moments and around me
it does smell like gunpowder, sulphur and rock
like when a person does hit quartz-rocks together,
and I run away
before the next thunderbolt does hit
while great drops blatantly do fall
all around me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem