In bed asleep I often think
That I am sitting on my writing desk
A haze of ideas smothering
And pressing me down
Just when I am awake and really up to write
The haze like a bird wings off
And I am weighed down by the dearth of words
I gnaw my pen thoughtfully
Waiting for a word to put down.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Truly, the imagination of a poet is a powerful one that takes its own time and place.