Hurtling through the clouds
Thunderbolts
Even so these days
These years
These centuries?
Ah! Heaven be angry
And
In its anger hurls
Thunderbolts
Missiles as
In an air-raid
Flying
Flying
Through
I that with closed fists
Looked at the heavens
After having observed
The sand glass of evolution
I see
That I must bend my head
Immortality suspended be.
‘Dust was
And to dust return'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem