There's a narrow passage
that brings you back home.
You travel it slowly
like a rambling poem
that doesn't know where it's going
but word after word without really knowing
it reaches its destination.
To try and look back
and see the passage again
is obscured from your sight
as the word is from the pen.
Home is where you're headed
and when you arrive
you realize the passage
is what kept you alive.
To me, my passage
is tied up in every word
that starts with my thinking
and finally becomes heard.
I know that when I'm finished
with all I have to say
I'll find my home at last
on that narrow passageway.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem