I do not like your curls falling on my face;
would you blame me if I was to say:
they do not abide by my words?
Those lifeless things do not even listen to you!
One night when you were sleeping – tired and a little intoxicated,
your hair, covering your face would not let me sleep.
Gazing at them would not help,
so an effort was made to curl them around my finger –
and once curled – tangled –
I did not care to untangle them until next morning.
I woke up from this dream at the break of dawn.
And now it seems that these days will be spent
in painting your picture with
faint, fragmented recollections of your dream.
Tomorrow when I go to bed again,
your curls will perhaps speak to me again,
or I will be fast asleep in my bed –
tired and intoxicated.