Down below we go
Tantalus and I,
destined to suffer from
unappeased hunger and thirst,
submerged in water to the chin,
whilst fruit of the very finest
hangs before our eyes.
I open my mouth to speak,
lift my hand to touch
and, as with Tantalus,
the water rushes away
to dryness; the fruit
vanishes into the evening air.
I turn to see your face
and you're no longer there.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem