At A Restaurant Poem by Gert Strydom
At A Restaurant
I once went to a restaurant
called the tent
somewhere in Sea point
and the owner laid a feast
of lamb stew
and rice in front of me.
The Turkish coffee
was without sugar
and extremely strong,
but a belly dancer
danced up to me
and smiled sweetly
and every motion
had a rhythm of its own.
There was electricity
when I danced along
and passion glowed
in her dark eyes.
a cognitive metaphor: ''and every motion had a rhythm of its own.'' enclosed in a sweet, wonderful poem......10+++
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 12:51:23 AM # 1.0.0.1119
simple enjoyable poem,10+++.by the way, do u want some coffee?