Only in Their Dreams
Is it possible, that the little song bird,
dreams of soaring and flying,
when he looks towards the sunset on the horizon
and sees those pelicans barely flapping,
gliding so close to the waves,
the spray painting their plumes
in tiny drops and crystals?
Skimming the whip-cream whitecaps,
off the rolling tides of azure,
in their clock-tick formation ,
each flaps again until they synchronize as one.
There are some things the little song bird can never be…
maybe only in his dreams.
It was the muti-toned song of the robin,
that always woke him,
in the hours between day and night.
Did he wish he could sing like that,
in the quiet darkness before the dawn?
As he surveyed the others,
the rocks still cool, in the early morning sun,
the gentle lapping of the waves;
he passed the oil over his feathers,
one at a time, letting each slip through his beak,
while his belly rumbled with the hunger of the morning.
He stood up and flapped his oiled wings; it was time.
Being the leader, he took off first,
the others finding their places behind,
the ocean swelling up and down below them.
Dipping down as one, almost touching the surface,
he thought no more about singing like a robin….
maybe only in his dreams.
As she was writing and riding the rapids
of a thought that comes so quickly,
she realized any one of these poems
she would sign might be her last.
Would her running trail of poetry, end on love or tragedy,
or refer to life and death?
Mortality was the song that played in the background,
everywhere she looked or went,
but the sun shone bright,
her laughter was filled with gratitude
and love was still close by.
Every word she wrote only came close,
to what she really wanted to say,
and as she began to wind down, her days much shorter;
she still sang and flew majestically,
but only in her poetry….
and only in her dreams.
Karima Hoisan
January 25, 2021
Costa Rica
Digital Rabbit Hole 