Sometimes while going to sleep
I feel I am my own tomb,
The ceiling above its marble lid,
Or am I returning to mother's womb?
The walls become white roses,
And stoop down gently to cover me,
While from the bed-sheet below I feel
Grass-blades rising to penetrate me.
Slowly the lid melts and in its place
Vast blue sky is all around,
Stars start rising from my body,
And my being becomes a stardust cloud.
On waking up when I look in the mirror,
Its blankness fills me with terror.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem