There is a glen inside me
A stag stands within my skull
A curlew echoes in my inner ear
Can you smell the wind of the Cairngorms on my breath?
Can you smell the peat of Muick rise from my skin?
The Indian ocean laps at the twigs of my veins
My nails scratch at the horror of Auschwitz
Like a crab moving over the surface of history
Crammed into the coracle of my brain
A tranquil Buddhist monk, a frenetic John Knox
Navigate the alpha waves of my consciousness
Poetry blinks like a lighthouse onto my retina
Prose is the sea gull galumphing on the shore
Gall stones are the legacy from schooling
Scars are where I broke its glass ceiling
In the nest of my heart
My dead child opens his beak andcheeps in vain
Am I happy?
Once I stepped into an August sunbeam
And vanished into cosmic unconsciousness
My tangle of bones and sinews
Lay like a basket of slithering eels
Abandoned in the dust of ancestral mould
I have grown old amongst my family ghosts,
Cuddling my mother tongue, my spoken identity
The Indian ocean laps at the twigs of my veins My nails scratch at the horror of Auschwitz Like a crab moving over the surface of history.....so many examples. to illustrate what is welling up n your mind dear poetess. thank u. tony
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem is definitely very sensitive and thought provoking. Death frightens many. An amazing example is illustrated in this wonderful poem.