my parents were once children
and their parents
toddlers in time to others;
I too was once a child
(nothing significant)
and I’ve been a father
over two and a half decades
(just natural days, natural ways):
and in their turn
my children and theirs
will also wear robes
as they are rolled out into their parts;
and so beings fulfill their functions
willy-nilly, helter-skelter
in the magnetic fields of creative nature:
really
there is no need for myth and legend
for there is no one special
even then, at the imagined roll of the dice…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem