Flat the land lay to the edge of the sea
and tufted the fields to the wind open
lay and passage to them free
turned in the day, the mud of life
the clouds of lead, the mists of fire,
the cries of every wound of Earth and strife.
small the hiss of grasshoppers sings
high the cliffs rise, though flat the island
lake in the middle, jungle noise that rings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem