Before we were men and women
we drank morning milk in a chalk mine.
It smelt, and we raced from kissing.
In the playground, I gazed up
at a white ledge on summer-blue:
'minaret', in a key unknown
to cosy hymns our blunt recorders
bottle-topped to. I hushed,
my feet so little calloused
I could feel the grit our knees bloodied -
a camel's kick - smooth into sand
and the brush of a pale robe.
It is from here we set out to become
strangers, the lambs we were
invisible as our bones
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lambs as sacrificed I think. Very powerful, Richard! Linda