The waiter who wanted
to become an astronaut.
The road-sweeper,
who wanted to be a doctor.
Dream, let us dream,
see the lights where darkness looms.
To have penthouse dreams,
in box-rooms.
Dreams are apparitions,
a mirage to the wanderer.
No foundation,
all aspiration.
According to the cynics of course..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem