PRISONER OF TIME 1 © 2007
I dream one day upon waking,
To be eternally enclosed,
In the universal library, my home,
With books as legendary kin,
I will also create mine, in the same condition,
To be the voice of a beautiful song.
In this dream, my thoughts and ideas,
Descend to the rhythm of the cart's sound,
On the cobblestones of my village,
The urn passing by, with the poems hammering
On the church bell, in an audacious attempt,
For a supreme hand to open the gates of paradise,
Even if it is tedious, persistent, and curious.
Knowing that I haven’t always had perfect judgement,
But still, they insist, with fervour,
Not that I need a lawyer,
But so that, on the nation's shelf,
I may be a wise fate, a sacred song,
That echoes as a prayer, in a raised tone.
And thus, in the eternity of verses,
I will be remembered, not only for what I did,
But for the dream that became a song,
A sung fate, an eternal echo,
On the shelves of time, in the soul of the nation.