A land of ice,
Cold, gloomy days,
The winter is all over
This sacred place.
A land of snow,
With storms that whirld around,
A land of cold,
Of metallic sounds.
How do we get here?
How do we disappear?
We are freezing
In this Northern hemisphere.
One of the nine worlds
Is full of water frozen,
In order to get through it
You need to be one of the chosen.
© Maryna Tchianova
This is a poem about Niflheim, one of the 9 worlds in Scandinavian mythology
