Sunday 7 June 2015

The Warmth Of A Dream.


The Warmth Of A Dream.

He lay in a dark doorway, dreamed of home,
night frost locked his joints
morning rain chilled the marrow of his bone.
In the dream there was a sister,
a pram in a garden, a crowd of youngsters
who called him "mister", a time of little pain.
Are these youngsters the same young men, who
now laugh at him, throw beer cans,
piss on him as he lies drunk in some dark lane?
When was that first step down this slippery slope,
when was that first step to no forgiveness.
No will to rise to beg for food,
numbness kills the pain.
The dream brings a warmth that feels good,
dark fog shades out consciousness,
an ambulance carries off a body washed in rain.

Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk

1 comment:

  1. Verb

    I’m going to wrinkle this word,
    I’m going to twist it,
    yes,
    it is much too flat
    it is as if a great dog or great river
    had passed its tongue or water over it
    during many years.

    I want that in the word
    the roughness is seen
    the iron salt
    The de-fanged strength
    of the land,
    the blood
    of those who have spoken and those who have not spoken.

    I want to see the thirst
    Inside the syllables
    I want to touch the fire
    in the sound:
    I want to feel the darkness
    of the cry. I want
    words as rough
    as virgin rocks.

    Pablo Neruda

    Translated by T.M. Lauth

    ReplyDelete