when you become the it
in that horizontal house
and when you rise above
the everyday itineraries
we are told by those who
have not gone there
that there is narrow tunnel
and there is a light at the end
some say there is a white bird
half-man waiting to fly you away
it could be a fact
but i am in no position to speak
i am not yet an it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem