The yoke of a broken heart, 
is that of tears of guilt and shame; 
of never having been good enough-
to be healthy yet thought lame.
With memories as a calefare, 
and worth measured by a world unmoved, 
how can one have a seamless heart, 
unpitted and ungrooved?                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    