No breeze
Everything is still
City’s dead in morning
No breeze and no wind
Such dead life is boring.
Sky is light blue; sick and pale
The clouds is cirrus, in remain.
Horse has done a painting
Some strokes, brush-paint
Horseman there to remove
Bring-back in some weeks
New paint, a stroke
Abstract to collect.
I want wind, gust and gale
I want move, want motion.
Aphrodite; come with dance.
Take me up on throne of sky
Court orders, force handcuff
Enslave; send ashes to shrine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem