You hear the wind sing often of this.
My ocean the open shell of the sea.
Of my empty words.
No one can approach.
Revealing hollow echo's its likeness.
My love.
My closed sadness.
My open vagueness.
My anger as one listen to my shell without age.
To tell you all of my stories.
Memory that only the sea,
my cruel and bitter Its terrifying storms Its spray,
Open shell.
Shell the color of my tears.
Listens to my once fragile hopes.
Do not let the sand over me to wash my choir.
What could be sadder on the beach.
Than a shell full of sand never found.
Laying open as it's emptied.
Playing children have found,
thrown back into the sea waiting again solitary.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem