there is something good in being free
when like birds we make the impression that we own the sky
that we know how to live in there
but the sky can never be our home
mortals as we are and birds have claws designed for land
we go back to our past and find out that once there was a home there
that there is also something good in there
we go from here to there and in sum it makes the proper comparisons
it comes sometimes like a memoir
that there is also comfort in some instances of our unfreedoms
the comfort of warm fire imprisoned in our heart
the assurances of the walls of the house
the hold that we give to the railings of the stairs
each step each trust when we feel that our hands cannot float in the air forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem