dusty space on the window sill
on the fluid view to the way long fields,
the sun rises and falls to death
to deny me the night I long to have.
Dreams do reveal in glorious form
lucid as they might be, harmless and true.
The day I had today shed me a trace of light
and what a day to shadow the wise old glow.
A flutter of reverberating tone woke me up,
a tune from the eastward window blowing low.
T’was the crude spout of the albino pigeon
jealous on her kin who never let her swing
on the forbidden wire under the bearing sunshade.
Rewinding few hours on my dazed morning head
I knew the universe is playing himself, corny and dead.
The remains of my dream stroke my being hard
and there was I with cold sweaty palm on my thigh.
Reeled back to the momentary lapse of consciousness
just to mid range that hovers between slumber and wake.
I had dreamed of a pigeon grey and white.
not the usual shit spewing grey and black.
He had asked me to wake up forever then
to make me contemplate the vastness
of such an empty and morbid life.
He asked me to fly, he asked me to jump
but he didn’t stay to teach me how.
I sighed for myself on my miserable state
and there I heard the ugly groan of the pigeon again.
There he was in a cage he never knew existed
on the window sill, by the damp steel pane.