DREAMS

While the crystal clear rain is pouring,
I am sitting on an old park bench,
Careless about the purity
Given to me by the skies.
Next to me, an empty bottle
And a straying homeless man
Who has no idea of where he is.
Between his numb fingers, the ember
Of a nearly burnt-out cigarette is burning,
Like the eyes of a tomcat
That is hissing at us,
As if we robbed it of its festive peace.
When you quit walking the dream road,
All that is left for you is a park bench
And the company of those
Who are more miserable than you.
The words of a dreamer who went
Through all the benches of this lonesome park
Still echo in my mind:
"Don't choose your dreams, my friend,
Just dream spontaneously...
When you have dreams, everything is possible!"
Luck doesn't want me lately,
Nor do dreams, I would like to stray
Into black and white dreams even, but to no avail...
A moment ago I was one cigarette richer,
But now it turned into ashes, as did my dreams.
Still, it is time to embrace a new day,
Not because of my determination
To catch up with problems,
But an empty bottle of cheap wine,
A burnt-out cigarette flame,
And the burnt-out flame of the homeless man's eyes.
I might be able to fidn the dream road by spontaneously walking,
To meet the new day with flaming eyes
Instead of the flame of a burnt-out cigarette.