My mother didn't believe
when, in 1945, I appeared to her
in a dream and told her
I would be born to her the following year.
My father recognised me
as soon as he saw
the mole below my left thumb.
But mother believed to the very end
that someone else had been born to her
masquerading as me.
Father and I pleaded with her,
but dreams are not reliable witnesses.
She went on waiting for that
promised son till she died
Only when she was reborn as my daughter
did she admit it had really been me.
But by then I had begun to doubt:
it was someone else's heart
beating within my body.
One day I will retrieve my heart;
my language too.
Just taking the self he can masquerade and joke though there is nothing in it to deny the recycling method. Who is whose father, how to say it? Who can say about ressurection and incarnation stories?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Child is the father of man! It is time for me to doubt, who is masquerading within me as I......