Dreams that speak; a spirit that survives: A poem 

These dreams speak to me 

like frontiers of an expanding oasis 

And they tell me I am no longer the desert I thought I was 

because of someone else’s treachery 

But I feel like I am parched 

even though I am soaked with perspiration 

I tell each cloud that passes me by 

that: How untiring am I?! 

I know that I am only flesh and blood 

but the spirit never says die 

And the dreams verbalise a sacred truth 

of a glory of orbs of gold in my wood 

 The volcano of questions has no lava of doubt 

There’s fate that never passes by answers without 

And I am just a slender creature, not stout 

But I believe that I have a lot of clout 

And these dreams are like strengthening streams, 

a riband of ethereal beams 

And I am very sweaty, yet I am clean 

It is the legacy of the way I was weaned