I wish I were a song, a melody
The love of a note, or a key, maybe
a tender voice, or an allegory, because
what I am is but an image of me.
I wish I were the clouds, who seem to
know their way, the wind or the
flower that bloomed just for a day,
I wish I were free, because
what you see is but an image of me
I wish I were true, like life, like death
the flow of a stream, of continuity
I wish I had no start, no end
That I could be a being and yet not be,
Is it what I am, really?
Nothing but an image of me.