it is different now
gone where the days when i pursue a dream
forcefully
bombarding walls and breaking doors
and jumping even from high windows
it is futile
forcing ourselves is infantile
ah, the flower does not move
for unlike the birds it has no beak and claws and wings
yet, the sun loves it more than anybody else
slowly unfolding, its petals passive to the caress of the wind
there is no work to be done
a dream unfolds,
we watch with all anticipation
there, there is the satisfaction
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem