Q u i d a m

Whistle of Dreamers

Little joy, little terror yet life's boat set calmly

In falling breath, where stillness of each sign

wishing to be last, carries on and on—

Could I gain my lost love, passion for heady fight?

In the strangest lamp post, light came as terror

quenching with thrust, every limbs combust

yet in the faint dreams, wishes for creative rays sunk

And I— dreamer— fill and drink in the void gleam.

I'll draw and consult the skies once again,

but trembling stars look dead, whispers more

drear, wild, restless, more than a pulse can throbbed

in pain, yet great clouds shimmer lights: concealed heaven sights.

Hollow men, hollow nights, rejoice in the noise of flute drums

A sound, too far from fear, dearly engraved in ears

From street to street, through the night— it reverberates in pale lights,

They sleep in dusky signs, I watch where dawn shines.

— 12th July, 2023