Floodgates of grief open inside, end-to-end, flowing
through and over this interior brain.
Washing it with sympathy, collecting in my mind,
memorialized for all time in this rhyme of poetry.
Set forth from within, sorrow shows itself timidly, vulnerably, to the world outside.
Heart of grief, gingerly held with childlike hands,
afraid it will spill out and be trampled by death's
insistent embrace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem