Desire to live on in spite
comes from walking near the sea,
from that overwhelming scent
of seaweed, tar and salt,
and from the movement of the waves.
Sea is the womb
where good thoughts grow.
So many lives and deaths
already passed this shore,
new starts always emerged
out of the deep dark nothing.
Giving up is easy, the sea indifferent;
to beat the undertow
means more to me perhaps.
I want to see the beige clouds
before rain, the grey skies after,
and remain in spite of all.
A proper sea will challenge every beach,
will never give up trying
to leave some proof of her attempts
behind in shells. In love. In courage before dying.