in my dream

1.

in my dream
silence puts a weary arm
on my shoulders
leads me
further into the unknown
I am a blind woman here,
there is nothing I recognize

the moon is cold light
shimmers on ice
lotus blossoms of bliss
float by

2.

i'm in nowhere land
and here I'll stay
alone with the sand
swirling around me
the desert of my dreams
and the oasis of me

3.

there is a diner I go to on occasion
I eat there regularly
my diet of emptiness
the waitress and all the patrons
all resemble me
in this midnight arcade of dreams,

outside the moon glows
an eerie memory,
I am free
from spirituality,
I am free
from poetry,
I am free
to roam
through the thin ice,
on the other side
of my drowning.

4.

there is no clarity of truth,
of being,
what is spoken is never spiritual
what is heard
is never poetry

but the breath, my friend,
is all there is...
and here
and only here,
its bliss.

— Kailashana, Jan 14, 2009

About This Poem

About the Author

Critiques

barbsdad2003

17 years 4 months ago

A blissful write ...

that richly deserves a blissful read. Thanx, Chuck PS: My favorite two lines? "the desert of my dreams and the oasis of me" PPS: And now, after hurriedly placing this comment, I must move. A smoker just sat down at the computer beside me. Reeking of what I've recently learned is termed thirdhand smoke ... something as bad for my diabetes as second- or firsthand. I must sign out and relocate to an Internet connection at some distance from here ... lest I gag in public. Not a polite thing to do.

Kailashana

17 years 4 months ago

Were you ever a smoker? I

Were you ever a smoker? I think that makes one particularly sensitive to its lingering odor. Thanks for reading Chuck.. No matter how far I travel, returning to the breath is the only thing that has anything of lasting substance. ~A "All in all, it's just another brick in the wall." Pink Floyd There are no walls except for the ones we build. ~me~

barbsdad2003

17 years 4 months ago

Nope

Never a smoker. But always subjected to the smoke of others. Can't avoid them. Thanx for askin', Chuck PS: It's astonishing to me that enlightened governments allow Big Tobacco to remain legal in so-called civilized society. Cigarettes and their nicotine with additives do more health damage to people---children in particular---than all other drugs in existence legal or otherwise. My sister's been diagnosed with early stage emphysema ... and continues to smoke. My daughter smoked for a number of years, has now successfully quit. And doctors refuse to be honest with parents who smoke, parents who've thereby caused the loss of a child or children to maladies like leukemia. Not to mention a slew of other medical "misfortunes" ... Ah, well, 'tis an endless rant of mine.

Conect11

17 years 4 months ago

ah,

that stark melancholy that perhaps only Clevelanders or citizens of other dying rust belt cities can fully appreciate. Stanza 3 is absolute masterstroke! There is no overt desperation here, but yet there is a quiet one, the kind of matted mascara, of that feeling one has at three A.M. after a night out. Those days are long gone for me, but you managed to capture that feeling without glamourizing it. Mark W.

Kailashana

17 years 4 months ago

Coincidentally… I was

Coincidentally... I was awake in the middle of the night writing these stanzas... posted the first one originally... then added the others as the night wore off. ;-) I missed your poetry, strange... and where might you reside in O-Hi-O? Were you here before under another nom de plume? ~A "All in all, it's just another brick in the wall." Pink Floyd There are no walls except for the ones we build. ~me~

Conect11

17 years 4 months ago

Cleveland

on the westside. no, I've been on here since nearly the begining. I just tend to take long absences here and again. Mark W.

youarehere

17 years 4 months ago

Detroit

there are last breaths at least in dying rust belt cities. in Detroit, the remaining mourners share old stories and vitriol at wakes and raves, obscuring the view of the casket where someone no one remembers lies dead; all the eye-penny copper stripped and scrapped to rebuild on foundations of crack rock stacked as cairns for dead whores murdered in the temples of rockstar pornstar hiphop headmen and white kids nodding in the backs of busses on Rosa Parks Boulevard. people talk of the dead as if it still lives outside of the scavanged wristwatches and bibles and automobiles sold now in Chinese alleys. there is more life and hope in Gaza, and in the territory of empty settlement houses, life worth prayers and the courage to rend hearts for the truth that peace is not the absence of conflict but the presence of Love in the midst of violence. the ashes of my fathers and mothers mark my forehead with both Crescent and Cross and yet I am born. -Michael

Kailashana

17 years 4 months ago

beneath the ashes and the

beneath the ashes and the cross, the crescent city, we are beggars here, emptying our bowls of all that remains, I am the Lover You are the Beloved the wind carries what is beyond the rusted heart where the ruby of indifference shines ~A (for clarification, this type of *indifference* is born from a fullness that encompasses all-that-is.) "All in all, it's just another brick in the wall." Pink Floyd There are no walls except for the ones we build. ~me~

Seren

16 years 5 months ago

Dearest Mum

Pearled and beautiful ... your amazing I know I say it all the time but to me you are Amazing wonderful insightful just plain fucking brilliant ... love and hugs Jayne