Child of the loaf
Dark and black
Bread
Swarming in the streets
At night
Picking
From dust-bins.
The chill and
The heat
Be
Indifferent.
Yet
The wisdom of the
Owls
The songs of the nightingales
Bring tears in his eyes.
And the night high above
Continues its silent revels.
In the fields
At night
A farmer of three jobs
Works by the night
Tending his sheep
And crops
Tilling the earth
By the light of the
Moon
By the cool of
The breeze
His face was shrouded
And a strong waft of
Wind
Unveiled that shroud
And
Then
Unveiled a ghost
A rattling skeleton!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem