I
A poem — a strange way to introduce myself
It's strange that I cannot see the world
With the same eyes I see my dreams,
The dream where it’s colorful,
Colored with the pictures of my smile.
Those bits of me- shining brighter and brighter.
It's strange that in my dreams,
I hold wings — not for flight but for freedom,
A place where grasses are blue and the sky is green,
A tranquil place where my mind does not buzz.
Where my soul finds its actual path,
The path where I reside
Surrounded by the roar of my bold essence,
Mixture of imperfection — where I lie.
It’s strange to see those butterfly walk there
And see myself having its ride,
Maybe it’s crystals of me,
holding some of the most craziest dreams,
drawn in this small miserable free mind.
It's strange that the world where I live
Cannot picture the beauty of my dreams,
But it’s okay — It’s okay to let my world be far from impurities,
Impurities of those eyes,
The eyes which stop by me in the worst way,
Judging my hidden tears under my smile
But that is a totally different tale to sing.
