The shadow’s role is in the foreground, but
the movie in the background comes alive,
which is the Daliesque unkindest cut,
a nightmare, like the cliff off which we dive
when plunging into waters of the dream
which is our life that we cannot control
because the script’s been written on a ream
of paper taken from a toilet roll.
(10/16/07/Written while visiting an exhibition at the LA County Museum of Art, “Dalí: Painting & Film”.)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem