With a groan of ancient licking,
It was like stones falling into the sea,
With the great wheel of doom turning
And spinning in the air like a craziness.
The eyes of the storm darted this way and that,
One of its arms span away and its legs ceded
To the seascape as rolling waves became steady.
The cries of the sea symbolised a turn
Of history, as the behemoth was a storm,
Fully fledged in its battle,
With gates opening.
It was a desperate assault, clumsy and petty,
But regarded by some as stealing and theft,
A disgusting flaw in the makings,
Or something that spared little thought.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem