an egyptian king arises,
his foot becomes the metre;
statues, statuettes fall
shadows bend into oblivion.
his huge, still calf arises
at the high gates
the valley is splashed
with his mouth-foam.
he drinks self brewed wine
begins to stagger on the hill
before threatened eyes
chained to the slaughterhouse.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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I like the vividness of this poem