Dream on a raft
A balsam raft, with a mast and a Latin sail, I built for amusement on summer days on the inner sea,
but I found myself too far from shore, daydreaming is dangerous,
I had forgotten the dark undercurrent.
The shore is hazy; tomorrow it will have gone it's just me and the blue outer-sea where fog banks are forgotten memories. I and the raft will end up on a blue painted plaster sea, in an empty bottle of rum that sits on a mantel piece collecting dust particles.
Till someone lifts it up to blow cigar smoke down its open neck; I'll be invisible in the scented fog bank.
When the mist clears I shall be gone, the smoker, astonished, will ask:
"What happened to the raft and the man in the bottle? Fearful throw his cigar into the hearth, sell his scrap metal business, buy a dingy, leave his wife, set sail for the outer sea,
where the fly-fish fly like ospreys across the blue sea, he just might find; whatever he's looking for
it ain`t here
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
shrouded beautifully mysterious occurrences but coalescing into a serious message -anecdote.Cameous de Loius, poet laureate of Portugal dreamt of The Ganges 400 years ago and sailed to India and wrote the famous poem. uz-ul-es d=des. PLease read my poem from Gangotri to GAngasaagarand comment.