soon he will write the happiest
lines in his life
many times he dreams about it
there was this pond hidden by shrubs
and there the love of his life is bathing
it is vague with mists and fog
it is so beautiful that he does not want
to wake up or
even live his life again
the most beautiful poem that he cannot even
name
because it is forbidden because he would be
descending stairs throughout his lifetime
because if he grabs that dream inside that dream
castles will fall, roads erase themselves
destinations become uncertain
all his roots uprooted and there will be no more
tree for him to mark his very own existence.
'it is an obligation' Life tells him.
You cannot just quite- -that is the rule.
Dreams are not real, that is basic.
There is hell, that is the last reminder.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem