The wings of my dreams start to weaken.
Before, they were wings of a ravenous Eagle
That used to fly my soul to the vast blue sky,
But now they have turned to a crippled wings of a wounded Dove
Where white feathers are slowly falling off
As it flaps it's wings too noisy
But unheard.
The lightning and thunders of evilness
With the heavy rains from the dark clouds
Caused these wings to cry,
Yet I am certain
That it is my selfish soul
That keeps attracting the dangers of the sky.
The wings of my dreams
Are weary and tired,
They seek for refuge from someone's arms
That widely open like the branches of Narra tree,
But my bitter pride insults me
With the memories of how I treated carelessly
That beautiful flower that has sprung
In the sunny days of December and January.
I shall find my nest
Not long enough to take my rest
As I hope,
While my dreams migrate
To some distant tropical forest of uncertainties,
That my distance will heal the wings
Of other dreamers
That I have selfishly broken.
How I wish to take a flight again
With the winged dreamers who used to fly with me back then,
Yet, I have hesitations
That they will never spread their wings again
As I flap these crippled wings of dreams near to them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem