A woman’s story
is not
what she sees in the mirror
that is so cosmetic
so intrusive
so inconclusive
yet she pools her plots
like tidal waves
rushing to shore
let the ocean of her being
saturate her wholeness
in search of the unknown
deep within lies her story
pulsating in every heartbeat
untold to the naked ear
she only knows
beginning and end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem