I am congratulated by my inner self.
(For admission does not come easy.)
How many terrorist cells
within my own body?
A child cries in my arms, yet
I am cradling myself, needing
to escape, unperceived,
like the molerat in the south of France
under the parisien tablecloth,
helping herself
to a smidgeon of french bread.
Seamless sky, let me sew
your clouds together
for the ultimate rain over my field,
awaiting war heroes falling,
fetal positioned, from another galaxy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Marina, The images you create in your poem are powerful. Ray