My heart, stand still;
For mist is thick on ground,
On dew, on crinkled straw
Which once lived as grass.
One sun-
Has turned two,
But both are dim, pale & grey-
Like the uncouth shadow of ghosts
Who, a short while ago,
Lived as sons of God.
Only the mist—
Through the caverns of this lump of clay-
Prevails, persists;
In this ‘no man’s land’.
Now this clay has changed
Into a land of worms
Of different shapes & minds,
Full of nets, networks & webs.
And they creep,
They creep through the holes of time
Into the mist
With ‘uncouth’ hearts in hands;
To the roads
Which once lived as glades….
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem