hovering will

Through its deep depths,
through the first reason,
the very first beginning,
through fire
and her womb,
I and my womb,
my sex,
I, my womb.
Mother.
You pushed, I slipped
into the water.
I was baptized.
I set forth.
Far - far away,
there sounded a call.
And I left.
I let the water
- there was no other way -
to drive me
all thoroughfares
inside your body.
The water
opened the passages,
broke your flame for me,
passed me through earth,
through clay,
made me into a body,
formed the shape,
drove me off into the ocean.
I was there
so far away from you
so deep away
in the bottom of the sea,
- sheltered
into the water world -
when I first saw
the flames you beam down.
Father.
You called me.
You appeared.
You recognized me
in what you named
human being.
You penetrated,
you agitated
the waters.
New songs were sung,
fresh colors appeared
and various forms.
I was frightened.
No, I didn’t want
to go back;
I didn’t mean to deny you,
not at all.
I just willed what
I’ve so far tried hard:
to put in an order
this bed of water.
There reaches me
a strange call.
If I’d wish
I wish to be yours,
to bring me to you;
yet, it comes from another world,
from a world beyond,
a world afterwards.
I respond, and suddenly
I’m out of water,
I leave the ground,
the sky I mount.
I’m on my way to you,
for I have to walk through you,
I have to walk beyond;
that’s all what I long for.
But I’m right here stuck.
You sealed me off.
You sealed me into the air.
You locked the air.
Neither sky
I touch,
nor land
I tiptoe.
I’m hovering:
Am I to stay?
Am I to assimilate?
Am I to fly through?
If only I willed so

greek version