Across the field of millet's,
Beyond the range of vision
There is an infected hill-
A rocky mountain torn
With gelatin and powder
And eaten up with hammer,
Chisel and wounding crowbar
Or with giants pounded and crushed.
Yes! it goes on as ever
Man has to roll on a flat road,
Breathe safely in a vertical block
So kill this long - standing entity!
Centuries have receded in to oblivion,
Gone are those moments of ecstasy
When a human soul found
Some divine shape or purging sanctity
That urged the hands to carve
A charming statue or set
The sanctum of sublime art
With the scattered rocks and the very
Hammer, chisel but sensing fingers!
Remorselessly grinning greed,
And coarsely tamed breed
Of existence have blotted the liquid
Of feeling and dried up the root;
The huge Tree of Life creaks
Balancing it self awfully where it stands.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your words are fascinating...of feeling and dried up root! Wonderful poetry 10!