in going back to the tradition of
my lowly fathers
to get some sleep
one sometimes must disregard
the elitism of the bed
and have the humble unity with
the floors' embrace...
there will be no pillows
except the softness of your
conscience,
there will be no blankets
except your pure thoughts
for the night
there will be no light
except the glow of your soul
the rest around you
that keeps you warm and
guides you to the entrance door
of trance and sleep
is the hope that the darkness of this world
does not
last forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem