Dreams And Nightmares
Dreams are a window to the future, real or surreal - poet.
If it was a dream it was like no other,
soft, delicate, with silky feathers
the angel beckoned me to
an enchanting embrace.
I was tempted but
couldn’t break the shackles
of diamonds, gold, silver
and all the precious stones
put together.
They were not just priceless,
they were strung with
a mystical, gossamer thread.
I tried hard but the magical
chains were overpowering,
The angel came close
I could feel the fragrance
of heavenly musk
her breath redolent
with nectar and ambrosia.
She bloomed like a lotus,
face glowing like a sunflower,
something I could never
attribute to women
of this world.
My strength was of no match
against the unworldly magic
of the chains.
Proximity of the angel and her
intoxicating body scent
was driving me, transporting me
to a far-off land unlike
any I had seen.
My tired eyes gazed at the pink seas
and blue sands, woods a
pale carmine yellow, the birds of a
colour rainbow danced
in tune with the music
created by the rhythmic
frothy, cream-pink waterfall.
The sky was
of a deep crimson hue
as if a gargantuan had
been slayed and the
tapestry above stained
with ungrateful blood.
It was both surreal and
utterly believable
at the same time.
My legs were still
in shackles, and I
was resigned to the fate
of an eternal prisoner.
I thought of the angel
who had come so close
to me offering an embrace.
What was her motive?
Was she offering me the
Kiss of death?
Am I going to die, dying, or
Am I already dead?
Amidst the cacophony
of the animals and birds,
my auditory nerves were
transporting faint signals of
someone approaching.
The sound of the steps
muted by the soft sands,
the dull sounds were from
behind, I turned around.
The angel was close, but
this time there was no
musky fragrance, only
earthly smell.
She touched, a bolt
of lightning hit me
and I blacked out.
Not sure it was a dream,
if I ever wake up I’ll find out.
Copyright ©
MB Farookh
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