May I spiel about the elements?
Or that beyond my window panes,
Laying in a invisible hammock,
Glows the moon,
But it’s pigment is that of the sun,
And for a twinkling..
I’m the moon,
Vis-a-vis; on opposite sides,
We peer at each other,
Constellations in our own right,
She lights up the dark night,
And I’m just a floating kite,
In a dark dwelling that is my room.
The silent night spills tranquil on us both,
But I envy the peaceful aroma that emanates thereof,
For I’m at war in my attic,
Drums play a soothing tune,
Melodic but loud, mildly overbearing.
They disrupt the peaceful scenery,
My thoughts dance along with no prejudice,
As if they aren’t mine,
It must be the snares, they sing about love lost,
A gloom tale.
Meanwhile my dreams mingle with sand in an hour glass,
And I’m waiting for that feeling of dust,
When my eyelids would shut,
I’m waiting, but dreams are timeless,
My vices have deserted me,
My thoughts dance to the talking drums,
On the sand that my dreams have brought,
Ironically, the moon and I are the audience,
For the idea of an open mind,
Unveiled the thought of dreams for the world to see,
Vis-a-vis; A show for two,
But, may I spiel about the dysphoria?
Or that beyond my window panes I lose my sanity.
– Smyekh David-West.