I am so stuck into this place!
I would like to fly over the sky.
To be a cloud in the darkest night
To see the world from there up.
To be the pen.
To be the paper.
To be the ocean
And the fish
To swim beneth the shark and whale.
To be the shipwrecked dear sailor.
But I'm the writer.
I cannot be anything else.
I just dream. I just imagine.
I just invent a box of garbage,
Wich talks and walks
So as I do
But it cannot fly
Just if you blow.
Mirela Groza
