Sun is a sunken eye crescent cry
Late for a walk steps after work and tie
Lonely air propelling sighs counts of lanes
Walking and gnashing meander on ridged planes
Late for a walk dash and pass the moon there
In Grove eyes run turns white stranger stare
Needling Squinted feets rumble behind match
Darker little Mulanje and Ndata rattle the rush
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem