Birds and beasts fallen into prostration.
Air's trembled... What's there bum-bum?
What’s this booming and rumbling vibration?
For the battle calls an African’s drum! ...
It is odd but a drum is also the music
In concerts... in wars… and in funs …
A little wooden stick-stick beats the air tight tum -
One little wooden stick or two little ones,
But no more... And a heart so zealously
is driving rhythm and is splintering the space.
Will it drum upon you like a wooden tom-tom,
my Tom-tom, will it reach out to thee?
by Pavel V. Konovalov
translated from Russian
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem