I don't remember dreams, except in fragments;
Like a novel one might dip into on a train,
A chapter opened at random, a page or paragraph
One reads to test the prose or scraps of dialogue,
When interrupted by a memo or task half undone.
This is a dream fragment I wish I could interpret
With psycho assurance. But when I play it back
After many years, it has a strange sheen,
Some symbols I cannot recognise.
In this scenario I was deep inside the earth.
A tunnel vision blinded me with light.
At the distant entrance I could make out
Some persons talking, peering in to see,
Pointing at me, as though I was an extra
In the tragi-comedy they were enacting.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem