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Legend of the Poet’s Fate
Half past three o'clock at night,
I often find myself in a dream,
A dream with a mysterious figure smiling at me.
Dressed in all white, standing just across the river,
Calling out my name as a plea.
I find myself in a field of greenery,
Covered with flowers, with no one else at scene.
Behind my back I see a picture of a places,
Where I had once been.
That figure can shape-shift,
Taking the form of a child, a friend and sometimes a woman,
It always calling my name,
But, every time I try to cross the river and flea,
The dream shatters before me.
In that dream, I feel an unexpected freedom,
As if I have found what I was looking for.
I find myself at peace out there,
A feeling of divine completeness, like never before.
A long time ago, I had a dream of reckoning.
Where I was in paradise,
Holding a book of my poems.
I guess it was a dream of my destiny,
Which is why I pour my heart into my stories and poems
My senses persuade me to believe in that fate,
For I too myself, long for a poetic death.
© rizwan
I often find myself in a dream,
A dream with a mysterious figure smiling at me.
Dressed in all white, standing just across the river,
Calling out my name as a plea.
I find myself in a field of greenery,
Covered with flowers, with no one else at scene.
Behind my back I see a picture of a places,
Where I had once been.
That figure can shape-shift,
Taking the form of a child, a friend and sometimes a woman,
It always calling my name,
But, every time I try to cross the river and flea,
The dream shatters before me.
In that dream, I feel an unexpected freedom,
As if I have found what I was looking for.
I find myself at peace out there,
A feeling of divine completeness, like never before.
A long time ago, I had a dream of reckoning.
Where I was in paradise,
Holding a book of my poems.
I guess it was a dream of my destiny,
Which is why I pour my heart into my stories and poems
My senses persuade me to believe in that fate,
For I too myself, long for a poetic death.
© rizwan
