Not All Dreams Are Fools Poem by James Bako
I have just swum through the rivers of seven hues;
while at shore, waiting for clues;
biding me welcome are two black devils,
waging tails, laughing and spitting evils.
What is ready does not delay!
I swam back through rivers like a relay;
these horrible creatures stuck like shadow,
their laughter are as deceptive as rainbow.
I tour nations, ran across creation;
chanting incantations, their steps are a catenation:
they chased after me for ages,
equating all my moves like they’re my wages.
I’m now at the end of the universe;
I took more steps and stumble,
like my poem is not written in stanza or verse.
every step I take, they double.
Here I am in the horror of horrors,
evil closing on me like mirrors;
my yell echoes at the world’s end,
…I prayed God the situation to mend.
Finally, I was awoken by my brother’s cry;
the room is dim; no light in the sky,
the rain didn’t pity our roof
like falling is the only thing it has as a proof.
The room is so cold and mucky,
but me so hot and sweaty;
my parents got the dream’s clues;
their conclusion was: dreams are fools.
I live in my big mansion in the UK,
my business and family doing OK;
seated in the UN meeting, with world leaders,
my speech given, I’m to shake world leaders, …
“Wake up, Dele.Go prepare for school! ”
Why on earth did mom disrupt my dream!
my fortunes lost to reality like image in a pool:
You fooled me dream, and pour sand in my cream!
caution your cranial nerve cells, cerebrum
or I'll will put them at rest or in equilibrium.
Floating in air in a thick forest,
I connect with life to recognise our good neighbour
offering me yam and oil in a nest;
he anchors my leg to a harbour;
Finally made me eat, and hurt my leg.
Screaming to life:
on my leg is the cut of a knife,
I vomited oil and yam, the size of an egg.
After oceans of consultations:
Traditional, Islamic and Christian revelations,
the good neighbour is Satan’s sword;
‘Saint Devil’, drinks nothing but blood!
Something is not clear: Is dream really foolish?
It’s been four months I last ate yam and oil;
dream cut to real cut is also prankish,
mom is straight, dad is a coil:
mom accepted dreams reality,
just this case to dad can’t prove dream’s reality.
Not long, dad dream uncle lost his job,
so it happened, he really lost his job;
God pelted dad with dreams lately,
He tried to wade them off vainly.
A year after, it’s not laughters:
he dreamed the great sequoia tree shatters –
the tree is the age of Methuselah!
it fell and spread like lava,
there in the market square centre;
Litters of corpses, so much for the undertaker.
It’s dad’s fault; he told us only,
not believing in dreams, that’s folly;
had he warned the market traders,
For safety, they’d have climbed down the ladders.
Here lies a pregnant woman in the hospital bed,
she said she had a dream:
her baby was crushed by a beam!
Days after, it manifested
like a ghost incarnated:
She lost the baby trying to put to bed!
After series of dream manifestations,
dad changed his dream’s belief
like he’s reversing creations,
although it filled his soul with grief.
Pray about your dreams, it cools;
Not all dreams are fools!
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Comments about this poem (Not All Dreams Are Fools by James Bako )
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