When he stood
he stood tall and high
head risen like Cobra's
ready to pounce
press his fangs
into the tender flesh
of his prey
not to poison...
but to inject
the spirit of life
celestial joy and ecstasy
which being the essence
of Creation.
I am thus a fountainhead
of life
a source of life's splendor
harbinger of new life
to the delicate Eve-ish preys
which may endlessly seek
life and the joys of life
I bestow on the wanting ones
the joy and pleasure
that even sufi's and Sant's vie for
but are mostly denied.
I am the Holy Serpent of Procreation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem