the philippine
mayas are
not extinct, they can
never be
we do not know where
they lay eggs
but the seasons are
not lacking
when they fly
they are like dusts
the group takes
a face
in the ricefields
of gold
in their brown feathers
and black beaks
quick and nimble,
they look like nuns.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem