In the grotto, ghostly stalactites
and stalagmites, like termite mounds,
line the narrow pathway,
opening onto an underground cavern
as big as a concert hall.
The underground lake is black and still.
Glow-worms shine like elfin lanterns,
numbers depleting every year. The roof
closes in: a de-sensitizing tank.
Will we make it out alive?
At last, I step off the flat-bottomed boat,
emerging from the dark- a mole squinting
at sunlight- soothed and calmed,
as if spirits had been combing my hair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem