The Home of the Dream

You have condemned me to sit at home, my good friends,
locked in my dark misfortune,
to not go out in the morning light, when dawns are exploding like red roses
and the whole sky is washed in the glow of flaming embers.
So be it. You have condemned me to sit at home and I will sit here as long as I can;
I will call on those red roses, on those embers,
to inflame all whose bowels are cold, all who hunger for red dreams.

You have condemned me to sit at home and I will sit here peacefully.
But where is home for the dream? Who will forbid the dream
to ascend higher than the morning light,
more nimbly than the soft spring breezes?
And when it wears itself out, who will forbid it to sleep
with the reddest, the dearest
of roses?