Passage to the world
in corridors,
Take your pick.
Mother,
I owe you nothing
you are but a doorway
in thought,
A river
in trance,
wild & unworldly,
srtange to the eye
& quickly forgotten,
Echoing words,
prayers, dreams
of the serpent,
The king of creation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem