The vulture grow fat
Crows call feast on my path
But scared of the bush cat
They battle on a single rat
The sky's dance
With cloud paused in a stance
The wind blew flutes
The ground a mighty talk drum
The night became day
To close my eyes bring harm my way
The sound of storms parade
The sweet sound my serenade
At a distance I saw a pool
The heat of thirst I ran to cool
Across the breeze I staggered along
All lost in a wind depression
I hunt for wild beast
With my bare hands their skin tow
It's blood I took as wine
I dressed as a man far lost in time
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem