In bed awake,
but not by choice.
I close my eyes,
but sleep doesn't come.
In its stead is worry,
about tomorrow,
about yesterday.
What will I do?
What have I done?
Where is the rest,
the blissful slumber
that I so crave?
Is it so much to ask?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem