Where there's light even at night
and the darkness obscures nothing,
where living isn't frightening
and hopes don't fade away
there is a wood
that keeps all the dreams
given up for good,
left for dead
in the oblivion of resignation
but wishes don't die
they fly away
and turn into lanterns
among those branches that wait for us
where the dark doesn't exist.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is beautiful.
Thank you, Carol.