this world is
not a boat at sea
where we
wait for the ports
of our
known destinations
i try sleeping
one day
on the 20th floor
of the hotel
in the city
i feel the floating
distance
above the earth and
the roads
have become simply
threads
of the needle
the world has
become
a cloth where i
embroider
all my longings
for the sky
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem