I am the voice of unspoken history
I am the voice of the unhatched child
I am the voice of unborn tears
I am the voice of unhosted heritage
I am the voice of the tongueless clan
I am
I am the voice
Listen to my song
Many tongues of my age
Wallow in dryness den
But our womb hold seeds of fortune
please, touch our feathers
Not with burning fingers
But with thumbs of succulent
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem