To not know is tough.
For I am left with my imagination
To fill the empty space
With no foundation to build upon.
It is like the sinking sands
That distort the images
And fall away with the wind and
The sea washing the grains
Back to the tidepools
Where the crabs gather their food
Turning aside each of my ideas.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem