There is a librarian in my sleep
A jovial lady
Who specializes in ancestry
She has a spyglass
For my unconscious desires
And knows I wish to see my fathers
And other family too
Lovely spirits I never knew
Tucked away in a cemetery glen
An inn glowing with lanterns
Containing thousands of scrolls
With the bios of souls
Who had passed away
Toward another eternity
She takes me around
To the graves she has found
And each great tombstone is laid
Like a stone slab bed
That I'm standing beside
She lifts up one side
Over our heads
Each skeleton
Each half decayed corpse
Laid out horizontally
Like sardines in a can
Surround by the holy objects
That we humans recommend
She closed the tomb
Like closing a casket
And all was dark
My mind played back all that I saw
Wondering if after my final gasp
She'll have my scroll in her hand
And give a little impish laugh.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem