Does a mortal person have soul,
to this I have my own answer
based on event yet I recall
that I will tell this time and here.
Long time ago, one midsummer,
on a lazy warm afternoon,
father sent me and my sister
go take the horse where grass has grown.
She towed the beast by its tether
along the trail we often trod,
gleefully, I brought up the rear,
stick in hand to use as prod.
What ensued next I do not know,
I felt myself, on air, floating,
turning my gaze to things below,
I saw mother running, wailing.
Mother picked up a limp body
and held it close to her bosom,
just then I saw the boy was me,
helped by people, she took him home.
I continued to float, up, up, and up
borne by the wind in growing swirl,
then suddenly it let me drop,
felt my self fall in dark tunnel.
As lights came back at tunnel’s end,
felt my fall break, my dive ended,
when, slowly, my eyes opened
I found myself laid flat on bed.
I looked up and saw sad faces,
seeing mother, I gave a nod,
then I heard ecstatic voices,
“He is alive, thanks be to God.”
After few days, to me was told,
the horse I pricked with my stick,
it kicked up and knocked me out cold,
prize I got for one naughty trick.
Years have passed, but I keep thinking:
who was it that on air floated,
who viewed the scenes then unfolding,
who pain no longer affected?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I have my own answer, good write, thanks. Please read my poems and comment.