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With blurred hopes and blunt dreams,
not with melancholy within,
I am to sail in the dynamic sky,
across any horizon I confront,
with the kite in my dreams,
colouring my dreams,
with your life giving brush.
How long this torturous transition?
I am withering like an ice-cream,
witnessing and experiencing the anger,
of your calculations,
left to the mercy of the sun.
No one there to have pity on me.
The withered rocks my sole companion.
The dried leaves, the reality.
Anchors of love, the cobweb.
Insignificance, my treasure.
My loose hanging skin, my beauty.
My life, a burden.
I am alone with my dreams frightening me,
nobody there to inspire and enlighten me.
My old stick, the companion in my miseries,
tired of my dependence,
tumbles and breaks,
projecting me into my orbit of my marathon.
I myself the very embodiment of my soul.
My soul is being swayed by the dry winds,
accompanied by the soul of the withered leaves.
Together we set out to find,
the new horizon of enlightenment.
To sail across it my ultimate goal,
where there is the nightingale,
who sings the reality in her songs.
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