I lost it; I lost the reflection of pure and perfect dream of being what I thought I would be. Nothing helped to cope with the fact that I am not me anymore, not even yoga, neither magic nor praying to God.
Thirty years ago something changed in the country where I was born, thirty years ago people changed. And now it is happening again, yet I am lost along the slogans and the words of people. I am lost within the thoughts of the young people of my country. I saw faith in their faces; I observed the dream of being in this chaotic world. We are here. We want to be here, we fight for the truth with words. Underneath the steps, on the grey cement roads, lays the moments, lays the innocent thoughts of being.
I see a man within a man, a smile within a smile, yet I want to be born again. I claim for freedom, freedom to dream, freedom of art; the art of life.
I am lost; I left myself back in the world of dreams and a ‘happily ever after’ life. One day I was taught to dream, the next my crime was dreaming about dreams. They are crushing the dreams, chaining the dreams, banning the life. They are making a reverie; they are building up a vision of not dreaming.
And we are fading, yet we are here.