Five Years Old

What did you think of dreams
when you were five years old?
The first time you could count all
your fingers on one hand,
because thats how old you were.

Did you think about Ali baba and the treasures of gold
or the Knight that marched down the road?
Did you see the mountains that surrounded you,
one thousand years old.

What did you think of dreams back then?
Perhaps it was a parrot’s cage or a lion’s den,
or that blue inked pen
now completely broken.

Tell me my friend,
what did you think of dreams
when you were five years old?
The first time you could count all
your fingers on one hand.
Legs too short, hands too tiny
and yet dreams so bold.

Did you not want to be the hero?
A cape across your back
jumping into life straight from your bookrack,
colorful pages scribbled across,
some things that did not belong to you
like that little pink frock.

Stupid was I
when I was five years old,
unknown to the idea that papers when once fold,
draw scars over them like stories untold.

What did I think of dreams
when I was five years old?
The last story before the silence of the night,
the new shoes because the old ones got too tight.

May be I am still five years old,
even when my age does not fit into my hand, finger or toes,
and I still think of Ali baba and the treasure of gold,
the mountains that surrounded me
one thousand years old.

When I was five years old,
dreams were what I saw at nights,
when the owls opened their eyes and the cats danced,
the dogs slept and the mouse ran.

When I was five years old,
dreams were what I saw at nights,
with eyes closed
and lips tied.

Dreams were what we saw at nights,
with eyes closed
and lips tied.

Two Parallel Lines

Our minds are two parallel lines drawn from left to right,
right to left, any deviation
makes the blood under our thin skins boil.
We havent thought of the triangles, and the circles,
the rectangles and the vast sky with no lines.
Our minds have become two parallel lines, any deviation
making our blood under our thin skins boil.

The circles that make up the chains we see not,
because criminals we are each of us,
hard not to be one
to keep the lines from the minds we have,
the words we speak
and the unknown we cannot touch.

These lines creeping in our
windows and doors,
curtains and clothes,
eyes and ears,
hearts and souls.
Demons we have each of us,
to let go must look at it first,
eye to eye
word to word,
and say goodbye.

Patience it takes to convert these parallel lines
into sharp triangles, and smooth circles.
Courage it takes to look at them,
to admit their existence.
Our minds are two parallel lines,
running from left to right and right to left,
any deviation makes the blood under these thin skins boil.

Two parallel lines, thats what we’ve become,
wont you stretch a little side by side?

Think think think. About these parallel lines.

The Breaking Point of Transformation

A photo by Mathias Reed. unsplash.com/photos/wEoRDzrgmT8

It is the butterfly I think of when transformation hits my mind. The dazzling butterfly with its colorful wings, the sky as its canvas. But I wonder, what does the cocoon think about. How does it feel, as it remains inside itself, closed from the world, waiting for the breaking point of transformation. Does it feel the fang of impatience grow inside as it waits to see a new world? Does it cry itself to sleep because the wait has become too hard? or does it cherish each moment as it becomes more of itself? Perhaps, it has already transformed deep inside, before being visible to any other eye.

via Daily Prompt: Transformation


Image by Mathias Reed from stocksnap.io

The Joy of Art

Put these tears into words

And you shall be invincible.

Summon your most prized valorous knight,

Summon your inner most demons,

The untold characters jumping inside your head.

Lead them through their journeys,

While you go through your own voyage.

Weave your secret dreams, and cut them,

Because that is the only way you may learn.

Art is not just about reality,

It goes beyond any realm any creature

Has ever seen,

Only those who have been there

Have known its joy.