The Dreamer

Lying on the bed, mild traffic sounds,

the pillow I am holding feels like her, soft and warm, smells like…

…there is a sound, the door opens whaammm!

Here I come, picking myself up

Slap across the face, “Get up you dreamer,

poisoned with love and hope,

thoughts of birds and clouds,

you are a low life, a frog, a roach.”

“But…”

“There is no but, there is no happiness,

you are a slave, you are a pawn,

wipe off that imaginary smile off your face, inhale that smoke, gulp that drink, you have lost the war, you have lost the race.

You dream of a world, designed by you. You are a crab, made to crawl through the sulking sand- you will be served on a plate. Your hands chopped off. Boiled in oil, while you still have air in your lungs…

You are not a free man.

You are a lion..

Who will jump at my whip.”

“…but what are my sins?”

“Your sins are nothing but you.

Why do you breathe?

Why do you dream?

You like the shattering sound of your windows, You like the autumn in your garden,

You like the despair,

You like to grieve.

You have chosen the path, now you will burn,

You will walk this earth with nails in your feet…

Your love has ended.

You have been cursed my child.

You are the poet, not the muse.”