Sleep likes the dark.
We too rejoice when darkness comes,
And then we ache for light.
In sleep we dream of life.
Lifetime is somnolence.
We go somewhere, some-whence
In our erratic ways,
Similar but various.
Destinations are unmapped
In imagined geography.
All are dots and spots in a
Land called ‘Somnia'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem