If waking is no escape from terrible dreams,
nor sleeping relief from my waking hours -
If my senses confuse conception with reality
(Or has reality always been a pure product of the mind?) -
If, reaching out to a prize held out,
it crumbles at my touch like saw-dust -
Or if I grow up, bitter and disappointed
that I will never be tall enough to pick those diamonds from the sky -
If the realisation that nothing is as it seems paralyses me,
And I cannot be as I was
or would like to be,
And at the end of the day, all falls away -
The whole substance of my living will be reduced to my only asset and sustenance -
Faith -
Without It,
I am nothing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Excellent and deep poem - well done