We're traveling on the backs of Dali's elephants
white sultans of the stars
marching between the clouds of white
without actually moving our selves.
On our heads, the turbans of the gods
show the rift that separates us from you
in this laddered world of men.
Giants stretch out the moon's chains before it dawns
and her imperfectly freckled face
kissed by the sea's bluish waves
finally succumbs and hides in the deep
making good friends with the siren's songs.
It's the new day, the new year,
but a fairytale all the same.
It's me, tucking the moon in her bed,
until the armour denying my emotions,
falls down in disgrace, to a rubble of rust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem