I am walking to the sea
With a quiver of tears up my sleeve
Others cry and purify
And are done with it
Ushering in the pinch of ease
But I could complicate a cup of tea
The ocean will handle my iniquity
Even as a ghost-self compels
The hands to turn long tumbled stones
For the sabotage angle
I won’t ever see
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem