Listening to the roar of jets flying over the building
causes a yearning, a longing to go flying.
Wanting to be up in the sky, looking at clouds, imagining
yourself flying with the angels, never wanting to go home
again.
Looking down upon earth, seeing everything as if it's an
insect world, then forgetting home to look around above.
Never fearing falling of the jet from the sky, it can't
happen, not to I!
Clouds passing along the way, I wish to open the window
reaching out, pulling one back in with me.
Not being able to do that, sitting back and watching as
we fly by.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem