As the day is dying
Panting its last breath
The dreams rise from
Windowless rooms
They find a way
To liberate themselves
From the clutches
Of judgements.
Dreams have wings
Of birds
They must fly
Fly beyond the walls
Made of concrete
To find their own horizons
Where they can float
Endlessly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Just wonderful Nosheen : ) Top marks *****