The Dream within a Dream
He hears the haunting whistle of the wind
And the hissing sound of shifting sand
While he crouched behind a craggy outcrop
Amid the wretched and barren wasteland
Sheltered from blistering rays of the sun
But alone, empty water bottle in his hand!
Overhead, a flock of regal condors hov’ring
Black specks against the cloud-free cyan sky
Anticipating; soaring in desert updrafts...
As the sun nears its zenith; his end’s nigh!
Tears welled, he grieves for a life wasted
In this wilderness, an inglorious way to die!
A life wasted; a fig tree that bore no fruit
A dark cloud that brought forth no rain
None of substance done in his earthly stay
All his efforts, whilst valiant, all in vain!
At the end, no one will even know his passing
The thought brings him unimaginable pain!
Strangely, the sibilant whistle of shifting sand
An unlikely lullaby, a numbing soporific sound
Yet soothing! Hypnos and Morpheus summon;
He drifts to oblivion, consciousness drown’d
As he dreams of spring, waterfalls, April blooms
In the sky, white lights! Is he heaven bound!?
Suddenly, a dissonant buzz broke the stillness
Not a whisper; but rather a deafening scream
The shrill racket woke him from his reverie
From a dream! from the dream within a dream!
His cell phone set to wake him at seven o’clock
Like a train off the rails, rapidly gaining steam
Sunlight streamed in from drawn-out blinds
It’s not the welcoming heavenly lights so white;
Sadly, he’s still earth-bound, in his bedroom
Thirsty, exhausted, feeling nothing’s right
And on the nightstand an empty water bottle
He sweats profusely; ceiling fan on, despite!
By God’s grace, he’s not alone in the desert
With a flock of condors awaiting his demise
Scorched by the burning heat of the midday sun
Under the cloud-free, lovely cerulean skies!
Grateful! the desert’s just a horrible dream
Yet wishing his other dream, true otherwise!
With eyes barely open, his life he reviewed
And understood the emptiness of his existence
Sadly, he’s going nowhere; and going there fast
To a virtual desert; a life that made no sense
Fruitless fig he’s been, a cloud with no rain
A legacy he desires; his craving intense!
Raised his arms to heaven, a total surrender
His head bowed in prayerful supplication
To drive away buzzards that plague his life!
May happiness and fulfillment be set in motion
Before the blistering sun reaches its zenith
Thus, squandering his chances for salvation!
Slowly, he stood up and went to the kitchen
Grabbed a water bottle and drank its contents
Refreshed, grateful he’s not in the desert
Where the hissing shifting sand drowns all sense
Hopeful, he’s got time to turn things around
Perhaps to witness white lights up in the heavens!
© Vic Evora
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