Ever since my eyes are ripe
I have been wondering
If it shall rain all day
For the cloud gets darker
Aeon past
The darker it painted
Melting the patience of my soul
I ran to mum
Asked of the long awaited rain
She only mumbled something on my palm
I never understood
I went treetops
Listened to songs of owl
In burrows I rode
Nurturing footprints of demons
Desert I excavated
Gathering songs of wind
I learned
The cloud above
Is dark and pregnant
But not of rain
Of something black
Of something red
Of something.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem