to let the poet in them die
their mind must have fallen
flat like a corpse
cant the moon not be
made a queen so that
she could doze off in the
light of his care?
nay, of course, they
did not let the poet go to sleep
he was wrapped
and bundled away in the
shadows of the day
by the flood of sweats
to bring the food on the table
by the torrent of thoughts
to get life smooth sailing
the poet, the poet, he can
sleep for a while and hopefull
will not die too prematurely
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem