a heron is lurking
to take away many
of my future poems:
its bill is made from the metal of coins
its legs look like serpent boughs
and wings are made from 1000 & 500 notes
it is pecking into the choppy layer
it grumbles at its futile strikes
it may ambush once the water gets a little calm
it strolls afar like a devil`s messenger
my poems-fishes sense the smell of death
hope, they`ll learn the art of hard survival...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem