I will have to abandon my dream,
if I want to go on living. Real life,
compared to the dream, is dull,
monotonous, hardly worth the effort.
The dream seems to be illuminated
from within, the way the warm, translucent
waters of the Caribbean, when calm, are lit
from below, revealing wondrous forms
too rich and varied to be believed.
What is the dream? It is always
the same and always different.
I am in another city, another country,
where people recognize me
for who I am, and value me,
Where people do not hesitate
to speak to me, openly, where people
love me and look after me when I’m
in need. All my wishes, whether modest
or not so modest, are fulfilled,
As they never are, in real life.
It’s too good to be true, but it is true,
in the dream, which stays with me
all day, like a drug. I never want
to let it go, but I must. Must open
My eyes, look, and see, all around me,
a world of small, everyday things,
each as remarkable as a bird
perched on the arm of a man.