Your lips have traces of hurt
On a constant search for dew
Take my rough hands,
These palms might hurt
But they will guide you
Across these unkind shores
Unfaithful and used lands,
The skies will be our guide
Every star will be sacrificed
To surrender its glow to you
Sleep well and sound
We’re still far from our stop
Let’s resign to this slumber
I’ll keep you living;
Keeps me breathing, always
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem