Today the eastern horizon is yellow gold
and buildings are framed
like pieces of a puzzle
against the sky
in the way that they fit into Pretoria.
a Few doves pass above
and it looks as if the Jacaranda’s
are already getting life
, and I see the first green leaves appear,
but some are still stripped
like skeletons against the air.
There’s a white taxi
that drives reckless
and cuts in in front of us,
to stop a hundred meters further
in the middle of the road
to pick up someone.
The sun becomes a white-hot ball
and to bright to look at
while it climbs higher in the air
and the morning gets direction.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem