How many grains of sand make the shores,
Shores of the oceans in the raging seas of my mind?
Why do I have to count the grains of sand?
When the waves don't count the kisses on land.
Are there tides in the oceans of consciousness?
Or are they always full on, thrashing the rocks of my ignorance?
Perhaps they are not sand, they are diamonds.
Carved out of of the oceans floor,
His whispers and couplets frozen in stone,
Left on earths lips, adding salt to her mist.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem