Monday, October 15, 2007

Dreamer's Riddle

Old man is dreamer, old are his dreams
As he dreams unto Ancient Eternity.
Playthings in his dreams, we all are…
Wish he dreamt what I wished to see…

And we are still those children, huddled on wood steps,
Still in our schoolthings,making paper men.
Every time was abandoned, one of my misshaped men,
It would, somehow find its way into your smallest pocket.

And so old Man,Dreamer,dreams of my enchanted story,
And I know,it only mocks my trance,when it distances me.
From you…

Long summerday,in prismatic light of a window pane,
Like a kaleidoscope,the scene would change,
Someone else radiates the glow of your smile,
As I see with a pang,you found a new friend.

In the turbulence of the evening storm,
The vase you had given me,shattered to the floor.
I cried to sleep,myself in my bed.
I cry for Old Man to be finally awake.

Old Man is cruel,he laughs in his sleep,
Old Man,of old dreams,smirks at me…
Through you...
The Dawn is here,bringing strains of your whistle,
With it and it’s the song we used to sing.
When I closed my eyes to sleep to death…
The sound I heard last was the woodsteps creak.

I know not,when the door opened wide.
Nor when Old Man woke up and died,
I hardly heard the curtains being drawn,
Or felt the horizons whisk past me,across oceans.

Night again,is when I open my eyes and see,
I am again,looking through yours,down at me…
As you…

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