The veld crouches,
blunt snout wet,
wind moving
across its flanks.
Shapes are silent
in the wind.
Clouds swollen with devoured
light mass
over the emptiness.
Somewhere an eclipsed sun
hangs in the sky
broken light pierces the eye.
In light darker than darkness
we must seek
the forms hidden from sight.
Shadows ascend like birds
images slowly uncurl.
Flame that would burn
back the flood,
speak now to be understood
yours is the darkness that burns
yours is the brightness of blood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem