Thrice I died, but four times I clung to Heaven's left shin,
'In! In! ' I said, but they would not let me in.
I had no identification and I had no writ of passage...
My tongue was dry yet my palms were soggy,
It was clear that my mind was foggy.
Groggy. Groggy I was.
Give me back my lifeless body.
Death in suspicious circumstances had left me bewildered.
I had not even seen my own end...
Yet Heaven's left shin was not as clean shaven as her right.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem