This life has graced me
with the tears of an ocean,
till not a drop more
could be wrung out.
In pain-pleasure or sorrow;
so now I am left to steal
lie or ergo borrow;
in a desert, what still stands?
Clinging to a bit of earthly soil
every living cell and grain
that slips back into the spoil
has magic therein contained?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem