There sometimes is really bad kind of dreams
which you want to avoid, to be waking,
when in your ears you hear your own screams,
while your body, mind and soul is aching
These dreams return like a bomb ever ticking
to the time that they come back with anxiety,
as if the past, the time of war is sticking
its fingers in the present life with impropriety.
Night after night as in sleep you plunge in
again you are in cover behind enemy lines,
you dream of escaping barely by your skin,
where you were trapped by some landmines,
about shooting to kill to be able to survive,
about as a duty taking someone else’s life.
Oh, one more thing: on the last two lines, survive and life do not rhyme when spoken by speakers of English.
Remember, EVERY line must have TEN syllables, PLUS, the stress pattern must be IAMBIC, or it is not an English sonnet. Keep writing. You will get it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Line 7 has one extra syllable.