Blog Post About This Poem
Translation Of A Dream.
An old man in the shade of a patio, sitting,
And listening to the warm summer rain,
Thunders cracking through old oak trees,
Furious for some unknown loses.
The old record playing mind soothing jazz,
Sax played the notes in perfect harmony,
Of the rain that tickles the soul deep,
The afternoon sun too bathed,
In the pool made by the dancing rain.
The ebony tail of the English pipe stuck,
On The corner of his mouth leaving,
Smoke through the other side of the mouth,
Deep in thought, Oh wonder what he is listening,
The music from the record or the music of the nature,
Deaf he is not as nature sure reached his ears,
As for every thunders he shook like a dead leaf.
Though the records played one by one,
His mind far back in reverie,
About some days far back in his noontime,
Smiles through his face flashed,
And the lightings in counterpoint, joined,
But in the happiness of him that filled.
His soul and another soul he filled,
Which upon his smiles and still glowing showed,
No lightning, colors, rains or blossoms,
Of nature is in anyway a match.
The rain played on and on like a broken record,
And the evening lingered along with the rain,
Smile after smile filled the nature,
And none lived now who can understand,
As thirty years passed after he blew,
His hundredth birthday candle.
What a fulfilled life he lived,
With a candle in his heart lit,
By a darling girl in those noon time days.
The early night sleep left with the dream,
As darker and darker the night grown,
Still the echoes of the rain in mind’s ears stayed,
And a face in mind’s eyes still smiled,
And far away with all her loving naughtiness she stayed,
Still the very thought of her translated,
Every bit of the dream from subconscious to real,
That started the moment, sleep and dream left.
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