A grain of sand washed up, washed out.
Born of fear,
full of doubt.
Ego striving
to be more than it is.
Different, special,
a revolutionary vessel.
Full of I and me,
even if surrounded by we.
Trumping the rest.
Besting the best
denying tomorrow
could be the end.
Worrying what's around
the bend.
Knowledge of just being
sand,
long ago lost.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem