With so many sounds,
so many words, I covered the wounds,
but grief, longing would always permeate,
oozing out with each heartbeat.
I diligently dressed
the wounds over and over again
till I thought grief, longing were growing less,
that soon the pain would finally be gone
only to find some truth that was perhaps real:
that words were the wounds
I had always been trying to heal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem