Those steps snugly crosses
The Alps and The Bosphorus
Have kicked up dust and snow
Became cross-legged
Like Buddha
Meditatingly slow
Those eyelids which've
Ne'er flipped
Or Succumbed to sleep
Sailing in a canoe
And the water sometimes
Flows over it
Those hands which've
Ne'er raised or hunted
Making fires
And of it yellowness
Spurs to fly,
Undaunted.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem