The ballad of a dream

Under the violet sky crowded by savaging birds
She was running as if hypnotized
Between moaning monks and chattering children
Trying to find her way to her lost soul
To that light shouting form the end of the road
A frozen moment in a burning noon – that was she.
Stone walls were surrounding her,
Messengers shouting chants and rituals from afar,
Children painting her dreams on canvas
Magnolias from Mozambic spreading their sents in the black-walled room.
Inspiration of the song of drums,
And of the far-away sad whispering sea
All gathered silently to take her to a new place
Where the bazaar of sentiments could be forgotten,
Where no one can touch crystal dreams,
Where nobody would shatter rainbow childhood memories,
Where sky meets sea,
And where her senses would be assaulted by lilac cent and jasmine flowers,
Where doves sleep in her hands so her soul can rest in their flight to the skies,
Where peace and quiet cast a shadow over chaotic and abnormal;
But the bazaar of sentiments suddenly became the hectic place where she was,
Like falling from the sunless moon,
She landed in the sunny, amber noon.
Holy men talking to serpents in a long-forgotten language,
People to children were savage.
Fires were burning and seeds were roasted,
Pink scarf and rainbow-like “shalvars” were dancing in the wind
As ensigns of a secret, ancient culture.
Burning charcoals and cent of hashish mingled in an erotic inspiration,
A silent chaos was surrounding her,
Her dreams, her feelings
As she could now see the cracks in the walls
And the cracks in her souls.
Feeling like a borrowed dream, living in a borrowed life
She asked herself: “Where am I?”