There is the hustle and bustle of a meeting
somewhere, the Relocation Committee is
briefing all on the move, only the crocodile
not attending, she prefers the cool ambiance
of the swamp in her office, the calm atmosphere
of the Swiss Bulletin delineating the movements
of Swiss missionaries between Europe and Africa,
with an air of conspiracy she stealthily closed her
door and continues to drift among the staccato
facts in her dreary document, if she continues at
this reptilian pace, she might finish it before
the start of the next millennium…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem