i wake, and i work,
and i sleep,
to wake again to work,
to sleep a dreamless,
cold innoculation.
And when i wake, I
wish i'd dreamt
of beauty and peace;
smooth kisses and gentle breeze
and waves slipping past my
ankles as the sea would sigh
in the moonlight.
but instead I
dream of work, as though
I were awake, and so
I loose track of the day, of
the month, of the hour;
for the trivial, imperceptible
change of working through
my dreams is so utterly
convincing, truthful and plain,
and realistic it must alter
too accord my own memory,
....As a day I slept and woke
and worked yet never was.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem