The Sun Hangs Orange Red Poem by Gert Strydom
The Sun Hangs Orange Red
The sun hangs orange red
for moments
like the smashing sound of a gong
in the air
before it becomes white hot,
the screaming of plovers hover
long and stretched out
just as if somebody
has discovered their nests
and the black-collard barbet knocks
outside on the window
as if it wants to come in
and while I am still laying in bed
the world turns
and the new morning starts
outside around me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/29/2026 4:40:27 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
