In the mind's little home,
Before does sleep come
And nimble mind benumb,
Heads begins to throb,
Conscience gets robbed.
Agility be lamed
Will power be tamed,
Awareness becomes dumb;
Eyes' two little doors get some extra mass
To close the brain's visual pass.
Body douses into lethargy,
Soul senses the highest ecstasy,
Weariness vanishes in air,
Vision appears real and fair;
And in this torpid fantasy
Man tastes an unique joy
Boundless, rapturous and divine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem