Sorrow pours from my eyes on traditional mornings as
memories pop in like popcorn, hitting me squarely in
depths of my heart where I sit hiding.
Delicately touching strings of intuition and blessings, focusing my mind on the heaviness I feel quietly inside.
Watching parades of images slowly walk by, feeling their intensity, as tears flow throughout my body and soul,
trying to release pressure that sorrow brings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem