Dream
I dream I stand still
in a shadow of a tall wall.
The wall has blocked two streams
from their confluence.
There are two ancient fig trees here,
bound by a massive chain
with the heavy locks on,
and a crooked mirror
in the golden frame
precariously leaning
in the dark of shadows.
I'm standing still,
but see myself now running,
pushing along the wheel of raging fire.
The distance of the path
restrains my goal,
then city streets arise
contriving some reliance.
By standing still,
I feel the sense of grace,
in balance with the harmony and style.
But then, I hear the wind begin to howl.
Wind curls up above the cradle
of the breathless child,
it currents randomly with force,
revives the child’s reverie,
as gently as the cupid's lullaby,
and carries the infant
high into the sky.
What does await me?
I think I'll fly now,
but who's silhouette
I see behind the glass door?
It roves within with wicked smile,
feeding on my fleeing soul…
Could it be me?
My mirrored image
has approached me,
and I'm standing still
as it grows ill.
I have no morals.
I am a villain.
What goes inside me
is not for real.
Wind robbed the cradle
of its baby, taking it outward,
then throwing the infant
safely back into its lean.
The wheels of fire
slowly rolling,
from atop of raked,
imaginary hills.
one from the right,
one from the left,
I am still.
Who is the one that gave me reason?
I give it back, for it only stings.
It is the time that locked me
in someone else's visions,
and I am swimming
in illusionary streams.
I am a hawk - don't - please -
come near...
I'll kill without sign of fear.
What goes inside me?
Who is the dreamer?
What is he trying to achieve?
He swims, he runs,
he flies from evil,
yet making more of it
by simply standing still.
How near and yet how far,
I think I'll reach for neither,
I'll wait until it will come to me.
She is near,
the sea makes waves of grievance,
and all my sorrows,
appeal to neither of her reasons
nor her tears.
She walks ahead,
I slowly follow.
Who are those people
shouting in the wings?
How strange
the beauty of darkness,
it puts the warmth
on curtains of this dream.
My eyelashes like the birds
that fly south,
in purpose of the lasting glee.
This dream is only like tomorrow,
blowing its wind
from lingered yesterdays.
The stranger walks by,
waves and smiles.
Tall shadows from behind fray,
then shatter.
The pendulum of time
breaks the reverie of a child.
All birds had flown
to the south now.
And I
have led you
through
this
reverie
of
me.
in a shadow of a tall wall.
The wall has blocked two streams
from their confluence.
There are two ancient fig trees here,
bound by a massive chain
with the heavy locks on,
and a crooked mirror
in the golden frame
precariously leaning
in the dark of shadows.
I'm standing still,
but see myself now running,
pushing along the wheel of raging fire.
The distance of the path
restrains my goal,
then city streets arise
contriving some reliance.
By standing still,
I feel the sense of grace,
in balance with the harmony and style.
But then, I hear the wind begin to howl.
Wind curls up above the cradle
of the breathless child,
it currents randomly with force,
revives the child’s reverie,
as gently as the cupid's lullaby,
and carries the infant
high into the sky.
What does await me?
I think I'll fly now,
but who's silhouette
I see behind the glass door?
It roves within with wicked smile,
feeding on my fleeing soul…
Could it be me?
My mirrored image
has approached me,
and I'm standing still
as it grows ill.
I have no morals.
I am a villain.
What goes inside me
is not for real.
Wind robbed the cradle
of its baby, taking it outward,
then throwing the infant
safely back into its lean.
The wheels of fire
slowly rolling,
from atop of raked,
imaginary hills.
one from the right,
one from the left,
I am still.
Who is the one that gave me reason?
I give it back, for it only stings.
It is the time that locked me
in someone else's visions,
and I am swimming
in illusionary streams.
I am a hawk - don't - please -
come near...
I'll kill without sign of fear.
What goes inside me?
Who is the dreamer?
What is he trying to achieve?
He swims, he runs,
he flies from evil,
yet making more of it
by simply standing still.
How near and yet how far,
I think I'll reach for neither,
I'll wait until it will come to me.
She is near,
the sea makes waves of grievance,
and all my sorrows,
appeal to neither of her reasons
nor her tears.
She walks ahead,
I slowly follow.
Who are those people
shouting in the wings?
How strange
the beauty of darkness,
it puts the warmth
on curtains of this dream.
My eyelashes like the birds
that fly south,
in purpose of the lasting glee.
This dream is only like tomorrow,
blowing its wind
from lingered yesterdays.
The stranger walks by,
waves and smiles.
Tall shadows from behind fray,
then shatter.
The pendulum of time
breaks the reverie of a child.
All birds had flown
to the south now.
And I
have led you
through
this
reverie
of
me.