Deep in a desert, sick and charred,
On heated soil blown from a distance,
The Upas, like a fearsome guard,
Stands watch, alone in all existence.
Cruel Nature of the thirsting plain
Begat it on a day of fuming
And filled up every leafy vein,
Green branch, and root with poison blooming.
Thick venom oozes through its bark,
By mid-day turning hot and dewy,
Then stiffens as the eve grows dark
Into a resin, clear and gooey.
No bird or tiger dares encroach:
Alone a whirlwind, black and fleeting,
The tree of death tries to approach,
Then sputters, noxiously retreating.
And if a cloud should irrigate
The tree’s thick leaves with precious water,
The poisoned drops just desecrate
The burning sand with deadly fodder.
Yet man sent man out to the tree
With one imperious, glaring motion;
The latter left obediently
And brought at dawn the poison potion
He held aloft the lethal pitch
On sticky branches, dark and withered,
As icy sweat that made him twitch
Ran down his forehead where he dithered
The slave grew weak, and then lay down
Under an arch of alabaster,
And then he died before the crown
Of his unconquerable master.
The tsar then took this tar to coat
The faithful arrows of his quiver,
And sent them off to lands remote,
Defeat and ruin to deliver.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem