I Dream Bohemia Poem by Melanie Emikohe

How ironic,

walking benediction

on a footpath to Machu Picchu,

poor and starving -

with my beat up flip-flops and dirty backpack,

feeling the Vortexes in my head

Yet, it's just me and my keyboard

(not of musical nature)

and a room temperature cup of coffee.



How ironic

that I stand by 'reality is an illusion' club,

(a defense from failure?)

My daily system, just like everyone I know

is Money without fame,

and consumption of cheap goods and buffet.



Sometimes, I want to get naked

in a church.



I want to walk out from my boss

and just follow the sparrows' droppings

(how would I tell the difference?) .

I want to tear up my Organizer

and to be more Random.



Just thoughts, always thoughts.



Love is the illusion that I can't spit on.

It's what keeps me Ms. typical.

It's the screws that keep the sun from falling.

So heard of I know,

But it is what is.

Freedom's warden,

so intangible but so real in my mind.



Sometimes my dreams are so far-fetched

but I always go by the subtleties,

within their reach and range,

like pumping for gas and alarm clocks.

for Love,



for Fear.