A song plays in my head when I think I'm asleep
it flows, it does its thing; mesmerizing tune of love of hate
some eyes open in the distance, their night's overriden by the music
the stillness of the night is torn down
to fragments of peaceless doves flapping their wings gasping for air
there's a rooster, I'm quite sure,
listening attemptively to the melody the sun makes when rising.
Then, it dawns on me: I've been scared all through my nights
and I am awaken by the sound of my fruitful sorrow
what a song that was last night!
it's the same song for every night
the same song I was listening to
before I got up to write this tuneless poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this feeling of doing not enough is important so long as it goads us to do something tangible, some good acts, love, care, and so on. often our poetic passivity, mere observance, comes in the way.