Sleep, darling, sleep.
The bed calls your name,
Like a lost lover,
In the guise of love past sham and hex
Dream handsomely, young and callow dreamer
The subconscious overflows like a river,
Like a fountain of lucid sorrow
Creating a city of dismal and abdicated beam
Writhe, child, writhe
The nightmare grips like captors
In the arduous, infiltrated night skies
The light in life dejects the abyss of demise
Wake up, sweet plum, wake up
The Sun beckoning, hanging by the streetlamps
With a voice, familiar to a lover's call under a tryst
She waits for you, with her skin of supple kiss.
Exhausted, are you? Be weary,
Let sleep invigorate your cumbersome body,
Permit it to drift you away, from the unholy,
Rendering yourself, the king of the mattresses, how cottony it is!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
very good poem.. didn't know that u r also into writing..i like it.