The Night Is Young Poem by Adam Sliwa

In the night when I can not sleep,

when I dream about dreaming

when even God is sleeping

and the devil is out looking

for lost souls.

I think about silly things,

I think about the baker

who just woke up, his

poor wife, leaving a

warm bed for a warm

oven, the small old

security man counting

every minute regretting

ever being born.

The garbage man

desperately thinking

of how to find a woman.

All these poor men

who are not allowed to

sleep.

I slowly smoke my

cigarette illuminating

the city with every drag.

I dedicate every puff to

all these lost souls.

The night is young

the stars are out dancing

accompanied by the

moon, like an old

wedding orchestra

and their seasoned

company, they know each step,

each rhytm.

And I am alone with my pillow

thinking of all the beautiful women

somewhere, somewhere far away.

In Paris, Buenos Aires, Beijing

New york Addis Ababa and even Beirut.

What are they doing what

are they thinking? ? ’

God is asleep the devil

is out working, my question

is blowing in the wind..

I dream a little dream of them

and hope they dream a little

dream of me.

Because in lala land

everything is possible