dark clouds hovering
on the hills of mid-March
and murky waters on the
rivers of the last days
of April,
a platoon of people
comes to your house
asking for rice and
fish bringing with
them their empty
bowls
five cows are thin
seven piglets die
and emaciated
black horses drink
on empty ponds
moses wearing his
rainbow colored coat
perspires under the
sun on a very windy
portion of the dessert
alone and still looking
where the oasis are.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem