Flames whip the air,
The tender wood is burned to a ash,
No time to stop and stare,
The tornado nips at the ground,
as if without a care,
tares the trees from their rest,
No time to stop and stare,
A wave is getting bigger within the sacred sea,
Striking the rocks as if a dare,
it whirls upon its heap,
no time to stop and stare.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem