...Some seemed like crazy people
with strange tattoos of mysterious faces
on their wildly tribal painted bodies..
I wanted to join them,
but instead I walked away
One guy looked like he had something to say
But he never got the chance
to get me to join their dance
Because I woke up instead
And got out of bed
with echos of the drumbeats
in my head.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dreams are the stuff of which reality is made. They are vital pieces of our lives. Thanks for sharing my friend.