literature(my own poem)

Vaso Farasopoulou,

When people ask me how I see myself in twenty years

When people ask me how I see myself in twenty years-I do not answer-I do not know what to answer. I get nervous, I retreat and I just wander off among the rabble.

When people ask me how I see myself in twenty years, my thoughts escape me, my noble dreams proliferate and the chimeric journey begins.

When people ask me how I see myself in twenty years, I stir up the memories of the past, I blend them with those of the present and then contemplate what form, what taste and what colour those in the future will have.

When people ask me how I see myself in twenty years, sometimes I feel sad, sometimes I am happy and sometimes Ι resent the question. Plans are many, life is short and I am constantly getting older.

When people ask me how I see myself in twenty years, I do not answer, not by choice but rather by ignorance. What could I possibly answer? Besides, nobody knows...