Dreams fly high in the sky of wishes driven by the winds of our will which, untiring, blow and push you everywhere tied to the thread of hope which, strong, does not break but they are papiermaché kites and the tears of those who surrender are enough to make them fall down until the sun of the new day, if we ever want to see it, will dry those tears giving them back to the sky.
27.6.’13
The original poem ("Gli aquiloni di cartapesta") is in Italian. There is no good translation for a poem. I apologize for mine. Corrections are welcome. As far as the sound of the poem is concerned, please, read the original poem.