I look up the open-country, blue and cloud
At the fowls of the air
Fly and swerve their flaps apart
With eyes of sweet and candour;
I see the sunburnt veil
And clouds gathering to burst ajar
A prelude of tears on downhill
Fall in from all its pores.
I look down the crust, brown and sand
At the mountain-sheep stand
On limbs, paddles on the sea-sand
Upon all tame and dark;
I see so low, the pullet's tail
The peacock style fit into a nutshell
Shivering, and erh-ing as a sick cat
Hinds freezed and slum-dwelling lost.
I look down the silt, green and leafs
At the floweret in species
Dancing, looped to let the wind pass
Plead colours to nature;
I see on them, scenic patterns
Of spikes and pistils on tops
And the scent escaping to my nasals
Even on the tower where I peek.
I look straight behind, awry and dif
At the but and ben, stalls and booth
The windows rushing back and forth
The curtains clap to the room;
I see below, a nursing mother
Tasty for the door-touch
Her baby burges about on her back
Volley-catch at her floating wrapper.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem