Subconscious stirs and breaks my rest.
An image calls my skills to test.
I find the paper crisp and clean,
My pencils ready, pointed keen.
The lamp, inflamed, beats back the night
While weary eyes disrupt my sight.
Then, seated still, I breathe... begin
And let Subconscious loose again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem