Walking under stars and burning suns,
the way it’s always been,
the wind can’t alleviate the pains,
it’s a universe designed to be
a picturesque illusion, make-believe.

Keep telling stories
that somewhere out there
there might be a valley of the living,
a Homo novus in the making,
but who are we to tell?

We will never reach the promised land,
nor any tower of joy and happiness.
We will never live among the clouds
in peace with world and elements.
But damn it, we can still dream about it.

Here comes the storm,
and rain will pour down,
and we can shiver and despair
in the face of cold and ugly times,
or embrace it as a dream,
a key to the valley of tomorrow.

Image: pixabay