Scared the scarecrow
hopped with the frog
into the dream-tickling
memory-flicking moist land
full of reed beds
the climate is warm
the soil is fertile in here
I smell somebody burning
all the ideologies
along with their trash
Seems there is no
garbage man in here
I hear somebody coyly
asking to borrow
some goods from somebody
Seems there is no
atm machine in here
I see somebody leaving
their doors open when sleeping
Seems there is no room
for troubles breathing
and no robbers, no cops in here
Apologized to the scarecrow
thanked the frog
promised the reed beds
to never forget their song
called longing for springs
And closed my eyes
2 comments:
Surrealism at the edge of sleep, the music is perfect for the poem, "it's a strange day,' There is something sensual and intriguing in the poem, too, a very secretive and close one, I think.
Yes and no:)
I long for another life in another dimension where I step into for a moment n come back, not too for from this life though...
And spring, the season of love is a perfect umbrella to stand under during this magic moment...There is always something sensual, intriguing n divine in the air when it is spring...
Viva metaphors! :)
Post a Comment