Fragment 44 My dreams of vast green lands And lazy, magnanimous peacocks gracing them Are hampered by these racy images of avalanches And a cross dropping dead on me. All these are old nightmares of seeing something Born out of books but otherworldly I did never read enough to confuse books and dreams As Freud did with his dream texts And as Chaucer did with Chauntecleer As Marquez did with Santiago nasar I never read enough to form that haze That Bermuda triangle between art, dream and reality It never drugged me enough like life did Where I draw wine from my veins whenever need be. It never occurred to me that I breathed Grapes, juices, musk roses and jasmines That Cleopatra and Medusa are not just names With you, I have learnt the art that could bewitch And when you tell me woman, control your witchcraft I do know I havent begun it. I know not enticement, no capturing souls I only know love and in its most pious forms The hair that fall on my face and twisting It as you hold me in your single hand I know I will let the power stay With you, for you and not because I am weak But I am in love and there I forget differences Between life, art, dreams and mimesis. I never read enough until I began reading you. I feel drugged. I am alchemical when intoxicated in your love.
Posted on: Sun, 11 May 2014 06:53:04 +0000
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