The bearer of dreams arises in the East,
Moving clouds to pass through,
Only to bury his burden
In the shadowland in the West,
Before he starts the journey anew.
How lucky the pilgrim who one day
Sets out to look for that treasure.
Last night my soul walked barefooted
Amongst stars and left a sketch of wingspan
On my heart.
But today when I woke up it was shrouded
In thick morning mist.
So I had to take my life for a walk to the sea
To see it reflected there on bouncing
Silver currents heading towards land.
My windbeaten dreams were once so fragile,
I wanted to feed the silence with words.
But now I see that it is behind
those beautifully shaped summer clouds;
When chased away by a winters storm,
The night is revealed,
And the heart of dreams
shaped in constellations of faraway light.
Strength is not boisterous and unyielding,
It is a faraway light resting in a constellation
Only a small insignificant human being
can see the true shape of.
In the night, everything seems
To widen out, to allure the light.
The borders of sky blurring intently,
Erasing the path on to which
My longing walks
On sore feet through farmlands of stars.
Alone like a pilgrim walking towards