A black cleaver
In the tropics
Severs day from night
In one chop.
Here, near the pole,
Daylight swaggers into dusk
Slowly lifting its skirts
To exhibit its red petticoat
And pink underwear
As if to tempt one
Over the horizon
To follow the orange yolk
Of the setting sun
Dropping into
The frying pan of the sea
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well Jan Sand, Metaphor Stew, Its really so the movement of sun from dawn to dusk u delineated in a beautiful manner with the symbol and metaphor, stew is delicious and tasty keep it up