I saw in my dream
Golden bees
Coming out of the soul
Making white wax
And heavenly honey
From the bitterness of émigré
And I saw the sun
Glowing in the heart
And the Moon a woman
Shading under an olive tree
Suddenly
The wind blew
From a cracked chest
Behind the wall of memory
Thus autumn replaced dream
And dream fled again
Returning back to my homeland
I woke up asking:
“O My homeland,
Do you still have a place for a dream…?”