I walk beside the sea alone
With footprints in the sand.
My feelings, water, stop and flow
And flood the loosened land.
Rocks of flesh press its babes,
Pushes them aside.
Marks of men make them graves-
Marks of movement, marks of guide.
The plain flat blue makes its move,
Breaks the mesmerizing silence.
My footprint's children do their groove
On poetry, so tense.
Hardly being seen or heard,
My mind goes tick like clocks.
Writing 'bout these things is absurd
Without washing them off the docks.
So I follow my footprints back
Until I see no more.
And there comes the general fact
That sea ate them from the shore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem