I stand on the shore line,
the tide washes between my toes.
I stare at the horizon before me
in a dream-like state.
I should have been prepared.
My mother once said life is more
than you want it to be.
When the sky transforms into
a water color painting,
the water washes between my knees.
My eyes fixed on the horizon.
I knew it was coming,
but I was blinded by fear
and couldn't acknowledge it.
The moon replaces the
sun in the night sky.
The water rises to my neck.
I inform Hell, I am coming.
I shut my eyes as the salty water
rises over them.
I notice my fear has won again.
I open my eyes,
to watch the brightness of stars,
darkened by the depth of the water.
At the bottom, there is no Hell
but life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
so 'effulgent', n'est-ce-pas?