I take a nap,
under a lulling fig,
and drown into the space.
The sky is not blue,
but the apple is,
and it's treasured in my chest.
I stand on a green cloud,
about to jump,
and find out I have no wings,
but I jump anyway.
No wind wheezing on my ear,
neither blurry scene,
everything is so slow,
I'm not falling at all.
I float upon a pink creamy sea
with a green sun on the corner of my eye.
I see a fish swimming above, lazy
I see a bird clapping their wings, beneath my feet
which is up, echoed a voice.
I'm holding a sketchbook
with a boy in it.
Why are you in my sketchbook, he says
'Cause you are in mine, I says
I turn my head
and there,
I see the rainbow.
'It's time to go'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem