He rose, on wings of hope, to his new found friend, the sky
while all around him those with tougher hearts and hides
imposed their cold reality where boredom reigned supreme.
From tattered thoughts he made those wings and Icarus-like
he flew to other precious worlds where tomorrow was more
certain as a cosmic rebirth called.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem