We wake, but are still sleeping.
She's crouched and I’m cradling -
her. In the blur -
between dreams and complete awakening.
We move as though absorbed,
as children yet unborn,
innocent and stupid,
dependant and nurturing -
a shyness of the day ahead.
When we must dress and become
adults tightly sprung,
lifting the latch of dreams by Jung.
We wake, but are still sleeping.
Between dreams and complete awakening,
the world turning,
without us.
Sounds like the subject in the poem does not believe his luck in love, honest and endearing poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That is a very interesting piece.