I wait for the midnight train in an abandoned station,
starring at the night with my pockets empty.
Something makes me believe it will take me to an island,
a place that only exists in my imagination and lunacy.
i picture it so fragile as a silver dream, as a paper aeroplane.
in that island there is no hard and exaustive work, no rotine,
people live contemplating rainbows and the blue sky.
the fisherman know all the fishes, some even have names.
there are no boring and soft afternoons,
the clock moves forward at mid-day.
lovers lay down at the grass, gazing at sensual and hipnotizing horizons.
its the place for all the wanderers who live for their senses.
Without noticing i feelt asleep and lost the train,
so ill just have to wait for the next one.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem