An extract from a (tranlated) poem by Blaga Dimitrova I can really feel empathy with -

"I was always distracted
from my goal in life
I was always diverted , late ,
missed deadlines.
But now ,looking back ,
I see how much
I would have missed ,
If I had perfectly pursued my goal.
(by the way ,what was it ?)"

Here is a poem of hers that I find almost unbearably personally moving.

Blaga Dimitrova

"LULLABY FOR MY MOTHER"

At night I make her bed
in the folds of old age.
Her skinny hand
pulls mine into the dark.

Before her dreams begin,
from a brain erased of speech,
a small cracked voice calls "Mama"
and I become my mother's mother.
and am jolted
as if the earth's axis tilted
and the poles reversed.
Where am I?
I have no time for speculations.

Flustered, I wipe her dry
just as she once taught me.
"Mama", she whispers
worried at being naughty.
A draft streams from the window.

Heating pad. Glass. The pills.
I tip the lampshade back.
"Mama, don't leave me alone
all by myself in the dark."

She chokes her sobs
as I take her in my arms
so heavy with pain and fear.
She or me? In cold winter
a double cradle breaks.

"Please wake me early.
I need an early start"
Is anything left to do?
Which of us left work undone?

Mama, my child sleep.
"Little baby bunting……"

             Translated by John Balaban

more information about this poet and further extracts here