My thoughts behind the fog, like the clouds in the sky
They flow . . . I see myself in them
My joys and sorrows, sometimes big and sometimes small,
Shapely or without expression, like me untamed, colorful . . .
They paint the soul of my painting.

Each cloud is one dream
A little thought, a short moment — a memory
Fleeting as a cloud of steam
It passes . . . so I don’t believe it.

Each thought is one dream, and there are thousands of them
They roll in my head like a hot volcano
I want to catch one, but I can’t — the lava is burning
But the volcano does not always erupt . . .
So I can probably dream?

“God, let me dream — big or small
Speak to me in what I see.
And then demand from me what you want.”

“Stop dreaming! Stop dreaming!”
Screamed those who had no dreams.
Some who dreamed too big for their soul,
Took fright and buried them long ago.

Remember, Dreamer!
Do not listen to the voice of many,
Listen to yourself, and you will discover
That when you dream, you live.