SURREAL WHISPERS
SURREAL WHISPERS 1
Surreal elephants, surreal life.
Dreams are a quilt,
a forest humming with the glee of elephants swimming and crossing the rivers in floods.
I sneak under my quilt and slyly listen to the sounds of the woods,
careful, lest my silence betray
my presence in the corridors of sleep while the woods awake to the drums of the day.
I will wander in disguise, wearing the hood of sleep
The elephants will follow at daybreak
and cover my track under their massive footnotes on my hazy script.
They will trample my script underfoot; leave their imprints,
a stamp of endorsement, of foot advancing, stepping on my life
declaring, "Flat, this Life I felt here, it was flat."
SURREAL WHISPERS 2
A SURREAL ANGEL, A SURREAL DREAM
Too much of tenderness hurts;
too much of hurt heals.
I had to be taught by a surreal angel
the wisest of the lessons of life
that a lotus is not a human being,
nor the heart a lotus in spring.
And before the cruel disaster occurs,
the heart, the lotus and the surreal angel
have to meet and feel
in a silence
an ascendent curve of a life
bidding a joyous farewell, each to each
and dispel the widening shadows of gloom
SURREAL WHISPERS 1
Surreal elephants, surreal life.
Dreams are a quilt,
a forest humming with the glee of elephants swimming and crossing the rivers in floods.
I sneak under my quilt and slyly listen to the sounds of the woods,
careful, lest my silence betray
my presence in the corridors of sleep while the woods awake to the drums of the day.
I will wander in disguise, wearing the hood of sleep
The elephants will follow at daybreak
and cover my track under their massive footnotes on my hazy script.
They will trample my script underfoot; leave their imprints,
a stamp of endorsement, of foot advancing, stepping on my life
declaring, "Flat, this Life I felt here, it was flat."
SURREAL WHISPERS 2
A SURREAL ANGEL, A SURREAL DREAM
Too much of tenderness hurts;
too much of hurt heals.
I had to be taught by a surreal angel
the wisest of the lessons of life
that a lotus is not a human being,
nor the heart a lotus in spring.
And before the cruel disaster occurs,
the heart, the lotus and the surreal angel
have to meet and feel
in a silence
an ascendent curve of a life
bidding a joyous farewell, each to each
and dispel the widening shadows of gloom
SURREAL WHISPERS 3
REAL IS THE SUN AND REAL THE SEA
And on the dark fortnight
the surreal angel came to my town, to my humble home and said,
in a clear whisper that could not be mistaken for a human word,
"The sea and the sun,
they love everyone.
They hold your secret and mine.
When the summer is dry, and
the particle of sand blinds your eye
do not call it tears.
Neither the sun nor the sea
roar in a pitiless fury.
The wave will come running to you
crash on your shoulder where the sun has scarcely touched.
Drops of the surf will fall on you;
do not call them tears.
That will be me come to you flying over distance,
whenever a distress will visit you on your shore
REAL IS THE SUN AND REAL THE SEA
And on the dark fortnight
the surreal angel came to my town, to my humble home and said,
in a clear whisper that could not be mistaken for a human word,
"The sea and the sun,
they love everyone.
They hold your secret and mine.
When the summer is dry, and
the particle of sand blinds your eye
do not call it tears.
Neither the sun nor the sea
roar in a pitiless fury.
The wave will come running to you
crash on your shoulder where the sun has scarcely touched.
Drops of the surf will fall on you;
do not call them tears.
That will be me come to you flying over distance,
whenever a distress will visit you on your shore
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