Ice at the top and also at the bottom.
Stuck in between. Which way shall I break through?
Must reach the surface: hope is not forgotten,
Just wait until the visas are renewed.

The ice above me, crack and break to shatters!
I’m sweating like a plowman with his plow.
I’ll come to you as ships return in ballads,
And I’ll remember every song somehow.

I’m forty-odd, just shy of fifty slightly,
And kept alive by you and God for twelve.
I have my songs to face the Lord Almighty,
I have a clause to vindicate myself.