In the beginning,
In the dream-time,
When life was just a canvas
bare beneath an empty sky
and God was yet unborn
The idea of life
swam in an acid sea
searching for a flint
to scratch it's back upon.
Creation was a damp spark
in the ocean depth
the after-effect of an itch.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem