late night show
once there was a little boy,
and by an open window
he'd pretend to sleep every night.
come rain, shine or squall,
he would always be faithful
to that window on the wall.
his eyes and ears
and all the six senses he had,
would forever dart in and out.
they would go out through
the iron bars, frolic among moonlit
shadows past witching hour.
they would gather seeds
of stories and fables,
and plant them in his little head.
some of them would grow
beanstalk tall, scrape against
the diamonds in the umbrella skies.
others would grow and sprout
magic flowers, and feed some fairies
and many leprechauns.
many a night he has woken up
to swear he saw marvellous creatures,
all of them friendly never threatening.
in front of his peering eyes,
flying saucers from beyond pluto
danced with strobing lights.
strange beings in cobalt blue
peeped and waved, alongside aliens
with green blinking tentacles.
the moon smiled, the stars giggled,
as his mind projected his images
on the curtains of the night.
never once was he scared
of the fearsome sights, and he valiantly
rode his stallion into brilliant black.
many mustachioed years later,
he'd lie on a bed next to a window
and see things only he could see.
somewhere something tells me
that every time he sleeps, he'll always go back
to when the nights were full of art.
now this boy writes and sells his dreams to a worldwide audience ........
very nice and interesting. very realistic story of the boy .
Knowing you as a boy endears all you are now as a grown poet Prathnap - -- a classic encounter with you both in one verse - - and thank you for sharing your dreams.... Fay.
...and you are that boy, and it shines in your poetry; 'grow beanstalk tall, scrape against the diamonds in the umbrella skies' is just perfect. So glad you're still in touch with your childhood. :)
A very interesting and imaginative write Prathap..."Many mustachioed years later" - lovely phrase to describe the transition from youthful dreams to old age pragmatism....great write
full of childhood charms