A puppet show theatre where my Jane Austin
& Charlotte Brontë symbolic dolls amuse the
mind - thus lunch hour turns into play-time as
I drape pink fabric for curtains, adding a silver
carnival mask as a theatrical prop
The dolls are waving to me, I try to ascend my
chair with a long jump because it tips forward
& I fall off as if Pegasus refuses to stand still
for the rider to mount & fly off into the sunset,
my chair runs on wheels, one misstep means
Falling on the floor, then I see a broken lilac fan
& hang it on top to replace the pink curtains; add
my smiling wooden dolls to the cast in my small
theatre, now with my mind refreshed and teasing
dreams hovering on the threshold of my thoughts
I turn away from my play to confront the pages I
must relay into a different tongue - but as a last
touch - drape a pink cloth over my mobile air-con,
my blue fairy as snow queen amid white roses &
yellow highlighter as a sunbeam bringing hope
To my little make-believe world - held within these
pastel colours I bravely wrestle with my text while
Saint-Saëns twinkle fairy notes on a piano & Bach
provide languid harpsichord lines in my ears - both
weaving fantasies in the air…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem