Writing what comes to my mind

They tell us lies, there is no truth in this place. They say God only gives us sorrows which we can carry, but everyone has tired arms. Too many hold bags which contain no soil and no grain. Let your arms rest. Throw your bags off the balcony. They are hollow, but still too heavy.

Who is feeding us these sorrows? He says it was them, they say it was him. We say it is both and we are caught in between. And we hold the woes of these wars, and still the woes of our own. But the only place which has survived every turmoil in history is the sea. So I throw my belongings to the sea, wishing they come back to me. And I throw my sorrows to the sea, for someone to find and remember me.