My dreams are meant to shatter,
I often fail in their upkeep
Disturbed at night by the morning star
Of day, by the night too deep.
And to uphold these clouds of illusions
I work incessantly through life,
As if, swimming my way through the emotions
of which I find no other scribe!
I start from where I end,
And I end at the intrusive start
which still appeals to my desires
And promises an expression of art.
A wanderer I was, I am
In this capacious canvas of life,
Alive I was, I am,
Yearning for glory in this undermined strife.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem