Sometimes
you find it this way
and that way, too,
bone-dried
or brittle as a bone
or emaciated as if
you come to an end
of a long, winding road;
even looking in the mirror
your eyes stare back at you
with some feeling of emptiness;
then unknowingly
you embrace a thought
cruising through your mind
like an ocean vessel
not even realizing
you are a wanderer;
you are but a dream
within a dream.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem