Dream Free

I wonder if I should call them dreams.

These stories that visit me when I sleep.

A plethora of pictures in colour

The alphabet of sight.

Sound tattooed on my eyelids

So I can hear with my pupils

The voice of imagination.

Here day meets night and they conceive

A thousand seasons,

All, versions of summer

To blind the bogeyman of broken wishes

And melt minds of stone.

So even if night gives way to day,

I am never afraid as this umbilical chord of light

From my throat keeps me bright.

Can I call them dreams these stories that visit me when I sleep?

These narratives of freedom

That chain me to the sky

So even if my feet touch the ground

My fingers pick stars like puzzle-pieces

picking galaxies out my hair.

Now let me open my eyes and tell the stories that visit me when I sleep.

Stories of a life better than this.

Where even the bogey man cannot reach.

I’ve dreamed of my freedom.

Now I live it.

Siphokazi Jonas

Occupation: Under Construction I am a spoken word artist, subject to God the Word. I write about the world above me, the world around me and the world within me. I am learning that my poems must always be bigger than me if ever they are to mean anything.

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