(i)
Firestorm of pain
burning me out under
stony rumbling
wheels, the skyscraper
of me collapsed
into a flattened cottage.
Bumblebee flames
of a fairy fly-steered
trip have ground
me into the dust I spiral
into your deep face,
as I stand between a blizzard
and a hearth-blown furnace
bumped out
by the touch of a breeze.
I rise to your knees,
O heavy boulder
crushing me, as I cling
to your wings
with the axe of my hand
pointed at me
in my scarlet cloud.
In the rising fist
of a storm
landing on me
with a porpoise's weight,
I stand
to carry on my head
a stormy world.
(ii)
Sinking into me
with the folded roots
of a baobab tree.
I stick my shoulders out
like arrows
jumping out of a stone-molded
head full of cotton strands
creeping into my cheeks
to feel your stroking hands,
the only butterfly
carrying pillows in its wings,
as a rumble tiptoes
a growl in a drifting
thunder's mouth,
a thunderclap
spitting out showers
to cleanse me
into snow
on an orchid's head.
(iii)
Let me spin
the needle head
under racing wagons
of me, as I flip
my elephant body
full of storm
onto a sheathe of lawn
pulling my bed
to the numb bridge
at your gate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem