Mountain height's tempestuous flight
jutting out in the breeze
climbing the clefts of cliff-side steps
above a ravishing sea.
Shoreline's swim, rugged and slim,
across the blue-eyed bay,
rolling mist as thin as a wisp
heralds each newborn day.
Lava flows rich, molten and thick,
forming veiny aisles,
flaming red, volcanically bred,
creating its island child.
Mount Teide speaks with thunderous reach
rumbling up through the ground,
all tribes rejoice its ancient voice
empowered by its sound.
Dácil's birth a gift from the earth,
her Elders turn to pray,
searching for gods high in the clouds
to lead them on their way.
In wilderness thrive ancient tribes
that learn to till the earth,
cool monsoon rains will drench the plains
quenching their soulful thirst.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A wonderful poem that takes us to a beautiful adventure in the sea. So beautifully crafted and well executed with superb imagery.