We liked her much and her ethereal self
She carried her transience about her
As though it was a long flowing toga
For her transience was a settled matter
Of evolution, in Darwin and burlesque
Just a comedy of sorts, full of sarcasm
Surely the world was made in her kitchen
Apparently he could not make a fine job
Actually when she laughed it was at him
Not that she was afraid of him, except
In the spirit-smell of a buttocks- injection
When she had a creepy feeling in her belly.
Things seemed to happen by a strange logic
A beyond-logic one failed to nail down
Everything got mixed, things and words
Stewed in an orange light, an unreality
Being light up there, the force of gravity low.
Above all this woman thing was God-like
The mother of all, who suffered for children
Who have once lived in her puffed- up belly
And for strange men she met in the corridor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem