We are each like
a tiny blade of driftwood floating
in time's turbulent river
not knowing where's the ending-
is it worth the effort
of remembering -
the heart in pining
that knows no soothing?
through the wounds and throes
of past suffering and regretting
love's voice has been silenced
and pain is the perennial living -
yet I'll not turn away
despite night's deepest weeping
on the rock of hope -eventually
I'll find my soul's anchoring
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem