Otsenre Ogaitnas

On your doorstep once stood This shadow thinner than clotheslines, just to Share the verdant lore of its earthly existence Even if its image was molded from the grains of salt Nonetheless, it has the proverbial taste for a Real kinship with all life, as seen in its creative Expression, somewhat like a sort of written text Of its tiny palms, sod with Great charm of nobility, and yet you’ve curved At the back of its head these doubts, which made Itself to huddle in solitude, entertaining The alarming phrases of inferiority that Nature never taught us Ah, now I am slaving myself thinking if this Shadow is still really mine, or am I still his?