there is free ride
to the fantasies of another
you do not oppose an image
you follow the dictate of color and scent
you arrive at wonderlands
and be met by fairies
it is the other that needs it
not you
you bring the camera and
take shots of impressions
in fantasy time is limited
remember Cinderella
the flying horse takes you
back home
you comfort fantasy
it is crying
then you walk towards a door
that opens you towards home
your feet are hurt on the nails
on the floors protruding
you bleed and lick the blood
from your toes
you taste reality and like it
you open the door of your room
blood drops and stains all over
you know what sleep is from now on
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem