Dream-Awakened Eyes (Surrealist Poem) Poem by Mihaela Pirjol

I.
Dark, dense night, distant stars, crescent moon, quietude.
Somnolent, soft dreams; a velvety voice evocative:
Embalms with tenderness; caresses with fancy affection:
(Your parlance used to electrocute me with euphoria!)
This heart of mine is going to sleep…too tired to hope:
The flakes of heartache, the fumes of suffocation of
A long…long-ago love…are you in the morning song?

II.
The atmosphere is tingled with the mercurial stimulation
Of zephyr's sound, melodious tenebrae, desired promises:
We dream…we dream…each one, our own dream:
There is a stir of hope in the nocturnal air; there is a beginning
Cracking the possibilities, vapours of cirrus and cumulus
Manifesting magic: the blood boils in fire: there is pathos…
There is still time…there is hope…!

III.
Is human destiny just a conjuncture of situations?
Can we anticipate? Can we predict the unpredictable?
Does some supreme, imperceptible force monitor us?
What, who is it? —an omnipresent, an omniscient God?
By which name shall we call that, which is incomprehensible?

IV.
Are we less significant than we assume? —
Or, are we ambrosially ennobled by verticality?
Should we burn myrrh and frankincense to the Gods?
Should we enchant them with incantations?
What is this life? Why this in-satiety—in-satiety
For survival? —and yet, so weary-hearted!

V.
Teardrops upon the withered rose-petals of heart,
Would no revitalise it: there is a desiccation of emotion,
A lacerating sadness, an infirmity of sentiments,
Of feelings, of sensations: the fallen rosy petals…
Blood-drops from such a wonderful rose of life, which
It rose with such splendour, with such love…

VI.
Rain as it may wish…! In this pallid season,
There is no hope for blossoming again! —
What have you lost? —Love; or, the illusion of love…
What have you gained? —Pain and Poetry!
How do you feel? —as a phantom: somnambulistic life…
What do you hope for? —A miracle.

VII.
It is the time for the recuperation of the Self:
(Love cannot survive in such impossibility of dreaming!)
The dream-awakened eyes, apathetic, lethargic as babies;
Primal innocence of vacuum unconsciousness:
Sonic shadows of visions…

VIII.
The sun no longer shines, the moon no longer lucent:
No longer lulls us to dreaming: there is no Beatitude!
We have forgotten to see with our hearts; thus,
The magic hides from our eyes! —Love has closed her eyes!
We are blindfold by prudence and conformity:
(Love cannot survive in such impossibility of dreaming!)—
Is it laudable to immolate Love?

IX.
Those dream-awakened, planetary eyes, subtly immerse
In the serene, static silence at the rosy break of dawn:
Echo-harbouring shell; agitated sea in an audient ear:
Your long morning-hair is waving in the wind…
You awake with stupefaction from your dreaming,
Only to be greeted by a unique, repetitious reality.

X.
You turn on the other side; you linger in your fluffy bed
A little longer, to dream a little longer:
Other dreams you dream again, and awake again
In a cacophony of confusion, symbolical interpretation: —
You might as well live your life, however tedious may seem!

XI.
You take a phosphorescent dreamy bath in milk:
You bathe in the waters of your sub-consciousness:
You float in your sleep…the lover washes with kisses
Your pores perspired in a love-dream: —
Why human beings feel ashamed when are attracted to
The opposite sex? —is it not made for procreation?
Is it not the instinct of survival deeply embedded in the
Human psyche? —why this shame and timidity? —
Why this vulnerability and helplessness?

XII.
Is it because Love can only be received in that state
Of openness, of oneness; or, is it of a divine, spiritual nature?
A communion between ethereal and corporeal; more than
Simply exchanging fluids: is it the sacred energy of life?
We may never know…but you feel…and know…
(Indulge your senses in the pleasures of life!)

XIII.
Minds daubed with terrifying thoughts, trying to
Paint a meaningful reality in a meaningless life.
Dreams distorted by fulfilment, giving birth to new dreams:
A perpetual desperation for living—the agony of survival;
We feel debilitated by our incapacity to freely flow
With the fluctuations of existence: with the rivers of life…

XIV.
The viscosity of sentiments after the sedimentation of time:
The loss of fluid spontaneity, stratified by life's durity;
The concentrated essence—the diamond in the charcoal:
The insufficient determination to unearth it;
To permit it to sparkle as in prismatic dreams:
The frail human fear of too much brilliance and brightness:
It fears too much opulent loving…the spent pathos of juvenile years,
The resignation of the joyless, docile middle age:
The loss of passion, the loss of love and exuberance: —
The murder of an ecstatic madness…

XV.
Like the metamorphic life of a butterfly, safely cocooned
In the membrane, we are patiently waiting for wings—
There is an insufficient lifespan in the clepsydra of time:
The brumal insecurity of being human with human life:
Your butterfly-wings are melting beneath an ardent sun,
In a temptation of flight: there is the heat and the chill
Of the beginning; and there is never sufficient time…

XVI.
To take your flight: you wait…you wait…
Your wings scorch and crack…a whimper echoes
In life's searing winds, scattering the powder of your wings:
Your prematurely extinguished energy of love, on the road
To perdition: a moribund love asking: —
‘How long lasts an Eternity…? '