He woke up in a sweat, not quite cold, but not typically warm, only half remembering the strange dream that filled his head before his eyes opened. He sat up in bed and begin to sort reality from remnants of deep sleep. Rubbing his eyes, he felt the moisture of new wakefulness on his knuckles. What was real and what was not, he groggily thought. Was there a genuine insight, born in his subconscious mind, knocking softly on the door of his brain? But after turning on the night light near the bed, the other world, comprised of familiar and unfamiliar images, faded completely, like thick fog finally and slowly lifting. The absurdities of the night were being replaced by the realities of the day, as dawn and the sounds of dawn inevitably broke through; he wondered about the possible connections; the material world versus immaterial logic, and if there was something to be gleaned from the meeting of the two.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem