Under a darkened sky,
The stars gather at its heart,
Gazing down with compassion.
I see what I once painted at school—
A lovely little boat, in an endless sea,
With a bright moon above.
I did not sketch fish or rocks in the sea,
Nor a towering wave.
On my white canvas, I sat alone in that boat.
So why is my mother with me, crying?
She holds me tightly, almost squeezing me.
Does she fear I’ll fall?
Others are with us too—why?
They can barely breathe.
Perhaps my boat is too small.
Regret and grief fill my heart—
Next time, I’ll draw a bigger boat,
So that all our dreams might fit.