Happy days rapidly washed ashore.
My worth a mixture of sediments on the ocean floor…
The mind made its departure; leaving the body evermore
Churning in the turbulent, rising and waning, somewhat
like the tie that binds life and death dyad…
Mushroom clouds form above and as tasteless as
All the mushrooms I dislike…
Then, the blue-sky coughs and cries, fear chocks
Still, I string words together to make sense of
the mushroom -fear erupting from within…
At times, I can't breathe at my peaks and
never to reach sea level again… in that case,
I'll be carried ashore and life resumes…
Sept 9,2016
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem