What I had come to do
here by the truthful sea
was find a single clue
amongst my sixty-three
haphazard driftwood years.
And ever since I can but patiently
sit and watch and see
the washed up barnacles of fears
at last pried loose
the triumphs sung so proudly
scattered about, of little use,
the voice that rang so loudly
now barely audible above the sea in me
and note how flotsam, like years strewn everywhere around,
is gathered in again by the veracious sea
with barely a whispering sound.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem