Being here among so many thoughts,
Cornered by each side of this fishing boat,
Looking up at the endless miracle,
And confusing tears with a couple of drops.
Gazing fuzzy torments deep inside this hole,
Temporary joy for my days in mourns,
Reach into my pocket for the rawest song,
Stitch on my lips the silenced snow.
Being here among so many folks,
The rain, your sins, and the dread to stop,
Making false statements to repel the storm,
Grinding the foundations of my inner soul.
Covering each dimension of this old fishing boat,
Sailing me to the West as I go to the North,
Never carry the hope same side of your heart,
You might end up like me, confusing tears with a couple of drops.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem