My dreams stamped always
By the same white elephant,
Stimulate me to wake.
Then, a hyena is grinning in the doorway,
Another one, always

I’d like to believe that drought and hail
Lay waste the orchard of my plain

Every year I engrain
In the same place, an olive tree,
If not sear, it turns its face to sun
Instead to me

When not white,
The dream is passing my night
Carrying the hope that clear rain
Is falling on my plain