Wastrels on the trunks of some trees
The stewardesses have disappeared behind,
Kissing after their pilots who
Are sailing the paper airplanes
And sending off fireworks into the skies:
The sugar cane is burning,
And the well maintained lions are in their
Cages-
The batters are up to the plate, and it is
Kissing time over all of the old high school
Where the students mingle with simulacrum
And the vestibules of a copper cemetery-
As I sit out in the grass, the windmills
Gossiping- the lady fingers firing off salutes,
And the traffic streaming like telltale
Messages of the ironic gods.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem