my beloved
is a gazelle
among men
his existence
hovers over
the place
where the tear
of the morning-dew
flops in the dents
of his feet
on the dunes
he is light
of complection
there is
no ripple
on his skin
if you see him
come and call me
where I spread
the Welwitschia
leaf over
my nakedness
and cry…..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem