The Tailor

Have you ever worshipped in a dream?
Where words are turned inside out
Their meanings heard aloud
But their sounds…
You contemplate?

Have you ever prayed in a dream?
Her silhouette scissored by the slits of mine weeping eyes
Stitched fabric of mine love into the streets of reality
Though I asked only for her
Her child also embroidered into this gown!

Ah! I can wear her silk
Mine garment of devotion
In worship only in depth of dreams
Ah! Though I love her and her child
Reality denies me this glittering gown

Have you ever brought back?
Something from the depth of a dream
Like the happiness of her gingerly smile
Ivory fjords for Sable Ocean of Africa’s pain
Resurrected back to this life beguiled

When I write, her happiness is this pen
Her smile ink for my lines
But what happens when
Dotard‘s hands scribe, trembling
Words day and night, endless
No sounds of joy or rhymes of happiness
Instead, sad poems sobbing on white paper
Graveyard for melancholic verse

Sometimes a dream comes true, but it would have been better stayed a dream or an unanswered prayer.

Background: Haitian child dying from hunger.

© 2004-2002,  Dara Shayda