I dreamt it felt like my mother had died

por ponchoevsky

I dreamt it felt like my mother had died.
Neither did I see nor hear nor knew at all,
but I dreamt it felt like it.

I ran through the unfamiliar streets
Of a city I thought I was supposed to know.
There was my sister as well as her friend
As well as mine. We ran and I was last.
I was carrying my mother’s favorite fruit:
a pineapple but it was heavy as boulders.

My sister had my mother’s French dictionary,
which, dropping the pineapple, I snatched.
“Tu ne comprendras jamais!” I exclaimed.
Then I ran, faster and faster and I was finally first.
I ran, faster and faster, but I was still lost.

When my sister reached me I stopped,
Turned back and saw our friends’ pitiful faces,
as if witnessing dementia and grief themselves.
I turned around and saw a bookstore;
it was the one wherein Mother bought Wuthering Heights.

“I’ll be near here, but don’t follow me please!
I’ll be near here, but get lost already!”
I said to my sister.

I ran and I pant then I halted at a store.
There I saw my mother’s dress.
It was white like an angel’s and I could even hear a chant.
Then I remembered.

Then I remembered, still dreaming,
That I was an only child,
That my mother didn’t speak French.
Then, where was I?
Who where those people back there?
Why am I lost?
Who died?

I dreamt it felt like my mother had died.
Neither did I see nor hear nor wasn’t sure at all,
but I dreamt it felt like it.

Anuncios