In spite of your secret, child-sharp darts
all those jacaranda blossoms ago,
and later,
witnessing my solitary childhood
eminently positioned
around your mocking home,
taunting, stabbing,
I would never have envisioned
then,
that even you,
and your mother from her grave,
could
would
ask me
to help you
take away
yet another
chink of my birthright
and the little
that was light.
14 December 2005)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem