Craggy precipices – spires
Out topping atlas – piercing the air
To the above flares, the hanging fires
That illuminates the darkened sphere.
Tapering – in fierce gigantic
Postures, intricate arrangements of stones
Relics of the ingenious antique
The god kings to preserve their bones.
The image it coils – the mystic counterpart
Where only shards – embers
And broken pieces, fragile, far from being intact
Unearthed from stony slumbers.
Ephemeral clouds, all vanished never to return
The land tasted aridity, became dry, barren
In fury did the sun gazed to burn
The imposing structures to desolation. But when
Overwhelming forces of nature
Plotted and conspired against
The stones, they stood firm for future
Generations, for those not yet born. Not a waste.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem