I dredge with incommunicable folly
Through the silt which fills my mind
Across to the bountiful shores of a melancholy
Wistful as a soft sea breeze.
I do not remember setting sail
Or counting stocks.
Fixing ropes.
But swallowing knots has become a nature
Common with a pinch of salt.
It seems inescapable now
As the tides roll in
That I will drown here amidst the silt of mind
Ah but how deep in the ocean one has to dive
To find that one elusive pearl.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem