O' my sleeping, weeping thoughts
heavy as army blankets, you and I
observing nothing but sunbeams.
Naught but lintel iron moonbeams,
under which no one listens
Nor speaks—but gibberish,
No one sleeps; no one dreams.
But even so, it's a sentry's landscape.
That's as foolish and bold as any heaven.
That's nonsensical -like any song,
sung in rhyme—one learns to love.
That's as still as any silence-
Hammering in the darkened hereafter.
My horror anthem roars now as an alarm.
No louder than the snoring tigers lolling tongues.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem