As fierce waves crash over my face
I gulp cold water, I flail
on rising tide,
but failing to find air
I despair and plead,
“why do you sleep
while in the storm I die? ”
Yawning, sleepy-eyed you awake
and noticing my terror, wonder
at my lack of faith.
Frankly annoyed by howling wind
and complaining shipmate,
you rebuke both
to calm.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem