my grief is an estuary
where fresh pain mingle
with age-old regrets
brackish with tears shed
sometimes worn to umbrage
myself of the too-real
and there is very little shelter
i don't even know if i have
the space to keep myself
from falling apart this distress
is dysfunctional creeping in
crevices at one moment
howling in the open sky
at another and it is always day
the light piercing that last hope
for the sanctum of the night
and there is too much noise
where i can die for silence
my life was probably daubed
by the numen in haste
forthereisnevertime
never any time for futility
the concatenator isolating
always atropos solely handling
my cloth cutting it till the
last thread is severed salubrity
parting in impetuous laughter
it is sad has always been
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem