Pistachio-eyed
Sahara on his neck
Bushes rare.
A crow on forehead
In attempt to fly, frozen
Its claws wrinkled, dark
On the sides of his nose.
His eyes are pistachios
Half open, half closed.
He stands in the line
Looks at board, in front
Beverage and coffee
Cannot read the price.
Is too old.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem