My tear glands are arid,
I don't cry anymore.
Does that make me strong?
Or does that make me weak?
Some say "those who cry are strong"
Some say "those who cry are weak"
So what am I?
Am I strong?
Or am I weak?
Does it matter if I go on?
Because life is like a river.
It goes on and on,
It does not stop,
It does not end,
It just finds a new place.
The ocean is where it goes,
Where it meets hundreds of other rivers.
Does that make it strong?
Or does that make it weak?
I'll never know.
Because people say different things,
And I don't know who I must believe.
Because I don't know what I am?
Am I strong?
Or am I weak?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem