The pencil soars across the black page

painting imagination, uniqueness

illuminating places concealed in the corner of your mind

bringing eccentric beasts into the fabric of reality

blustering winds rush over once serene, quiet glades

Although I have never been,

I can smell the condensed aroma

of fresh bread in the bakery,

occupying its place in the noses of bypassers.

Although I have never been,

I can distinguish between the flavor

of black and green olives,

home can be anywhere with a song

a constant melody

an extravagant sound

warmth without sun

cold without ice

feel anyway you’d like

Even if the school desks

Are perfectly aligned

And the chairs evenly spaced

And the walls precisely decorated

And the white boards

Sparkling white,

Standing in the middle of the stage

microphone taped to my face

singing my heart out

Handcuffing the mass murder who

has been loose for decades

lowering his head

into the cop car

This place, that place, there are so many in which I can be,

But I choose that one, the one where I can be free.

It can be a place where the sun shines at the crack of dawn,

A place that is so dreamy it can make me yawn.