The sky is a drift
of golden islands
floating in purple seas,
and the magic they give
is surely to live
in the colour of memory
So I yearn for the sky
when evening is high
and fly into hypnotic night.
I repose with the stars
and the crescent afar
till the splendour of dawn
gives delight.
Waf
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem