Often in my sleep
A new world opens to me
As I step in the door closes
A wraithlike crystal world
Mostly I am the spectator
Watching the life as a film
And sometimes an actor
Who got a role to do
Sometimes I lead the dream
Or else I follow others
Bad dreams sting me
Little dreams make me glad.
What’s this dream made of?
To be broken soon I wake up
I see things crystal clear
But fade away in veracity
Who opens the door to dreams?
Only to shut too quickly
Why there’s a dream to us
To console, to please or to sadden?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem