a Japanese girl sat
on the drums—
upon a stool
rather,
softs of brushes,
tings of cymbals
clipped the air,
a lather.
rhymes of rhythms
tuft up
then down a
low moaning mallet,
listeners whispered—
lingered there
to breath the light
In her pallet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem