I was born fifty years ago
The dead know my history
The dead gave my name
Our fates are told by melancholy winds
The dust in the graveyard was once a friend
The stars blew me in on a great big wave
Time is the Father, space is the womb
Where thought is the keyhole of a brand new room
Where the lost are found, and the late are soon
That forth line says it all, and so well, so true. An eclectic feel here, and I like that.
Peering through what's yours and mine lets unlock gates of time
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Powerful lines written, thank you