When I dream,
I dream about crows...
Biting, scratching, tearing
Covering me with blows.
Pink, purple, black,
The bruises all shine and fire...
When the crows turn into dogs
Around these brutes, I never felt shy-er.
They bark, they bite,
They chase me till dawn...
When all of a sudden it is light
"Bad dreams go away at morn".
"Bad dreams go away at morn",
To 'go away' is not permanent...
The light offers only momentary refuge
As evening approaches, my soul turns scared and pent.
"Does it really go away?", I ask my mum,
"What is 'it' my darling?"...
Too long a pause
The question's gone.
At night crows and dogs,
At morning other creatures...
When I look in the mirror, I find them
They have the same features.
Last night, They came,
Armed with axes and hammers, pistols and scissors...
Some have long fingers like witches
To open up my skin in fissures.
Cold sweat, heavy panting,
A tangle in the bedclothes...
A drink of cool water, a splash against my brows
It is still dark, they haven't closed those yet- those roads.
Why should nightmares be at night?
The creatures are ever-present...
They burn in my mind's doubtfire
To dissolve me They are hell-bent.
YOU ARE READING
Doubtfire
PoetryA girl describes her nightmares. She is puzzled by them. She asks her mother, who does not understand her. She is consumed in the doubtfire of her mind wondering about those strange visions and comparing them to reality.
