Morning Moon says, "It's not my beams
dear mortals that brighten your face;
rather it's all due to my soulmate Sun's grace
who, thro' a wild love affair in the night
has left my feminine self in dire distress;
enervated, emaciated by his pious pranks
now on the western fringe of sky, I lie glowless-
without any desire to wake up for rituals
rather willing to sink into a sweet, drowsy numbness
and forget for ever
that I lived only to burn under the fierce
all consuming desire of my spouse, so limitless;
it's only last night's hangover
that keeps me awake this wee hour
before I fade into a mild nothingness
behind gossamer clouds
that draw curtains over my existence!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem