My Dream

I had a dream I was a poet.

And in my dream, I would recite what nature whispered in my ear.

“This is your play ground,” it would say, over and over again.

I had a dream where I flew across the world.

And I saw life happening, happening right from above.

I saw mountains growing and falling.

I saw trees as big as they were meant to be.

I saw people behaving in different ways;

Some were breaking hearts, stealing people’s tears and introducing them to pain.

Others were putting the broken pieces back in their place.

Relieving them from their ache with kindness,

Satisfying their thirst for happiness and giving them hope again.

I woke up from my dream, with tears of knowledge.

And I knew.

I knew that we are not the poets.

We are the poetry.

A poet vanishes in time, but the poetry remains.

And life happens, over, over and over again!

The poetry’s playground is and will always be

The infinity of times.

 

By Nerea Duran