Once again
I am running after
something I cannot really see...
An old dream appears
just out of my reach;
on the border of visibility...
Do I need to see to believe,
like those of little faith?
No... and yet I remember
chasing the sun in the evening;
I did see it, but was not any nearer...
Is it the same with our dreams?
Does it make sense to chase a thing
we might never get?
It can be different for each one of us;
I choose, I want to believe that it does...
For at least we would die
enlightened by the dream,
that was shining on our faces
like the distant sun...
And we would go through our lives
with open hearts
and light in our eyes...
Unfulfilled and yet somehow blessed...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Life is made of those dreams in clouds