Sometimes I find myself in the shadow
Of a man in a metal mask
And I am sleeping
But I don't know that yet
There is a tribal fire that hisses and snarls
And the plume of smoke
Caresses my cheeks
But hates my eyes
The totem pole possesses grimaced faces
As the sacrificial bird is brought out
They kill the bird for it's feathers
And I get the eggs
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem