Sleeping in the darkness of loss, tears flowing onto my
pillow where I can no longer lay my head because it's
soaked through with my sorrow.
An anxious and foreboding way to live life on the edge
of every single moment, awaiting the period of early
morning light before the night has faded completely.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
For what it is worth, first, great poem! Very magical. It is quite an art to know the edge of the ledge, to draw from someone I hold in regard. On a bit of a serendipitous note, I began an essay on Mithra today. What's the point? Well, you allude to Mithra, who is the light that proceeds the Sun [rise]. That threshold, or chasm, like the zodiacal Cancer truly is where you are writing about: the edge. Unless you have explored such mythos, one might say you have drawn from the well that Carl Jung called collective consciousness & James Joyce called the monomyth. Wait till you discover what the edge is, in your own terms. I have formed the notion the edge represents the plane between [the thoughts]: what should I do; what needs to be done. Thanks for writing truth.