O Mother! O Mother!
Don’t scold us
for painting the sky.
Don’t curse us
for sleeping in the garden
all day long
under the blue sky bewitching.
We’re not idle.
We’re not lazy.
We’re dreaming dreams,
the poet’s dream so pure.

O, my Mother!
Allow us to kiss
the dream’s holy lips.
O how very wonderful,
O how very wonderful it is!
It’s a poet’s dream.

“Ah! What a life the poet leads!”
Playing with the thoughts,
filling them with colors
of the emotion as they change.

Poet’s as the pond,
never stagnate.
They live,
arousing thoughts
all new,
lit with the fickle lamps
of laughter and tears.

O Mother! O Mother!
Don’t scold us
for painting the sky.
Don’t curse us
for sleeping in the garden
all day long
under the blue sky bewitching.
We’re not idle.
We’re not lazy.
We’re dreaming dreams,
the poets dream so pure.

O, my Mother!
Allow us to witness
the heavenly marriage
between the oxygen
of our dreams,
and the hydrogen
of our realities.

We are poets too!
We’ve been scaling
every mountain of pain
and sailing
every sea of happiness
boarding the plane of our dreams.

O Mother! O Mother!
Let us dream.

Buffer against stress
self- medication
We dream.

O My child!
If only I could think as you.
If only I could dream as you.

“If dreaming you are not,
dream are you yourself,” O Mother!

O My child!
Many a dream is born,
and many a dreams dies,
but life’s way eternally the same.
Life is nature’s own naturalness,
where hopes are drowned
in the sea of miseries,
where illusion is more powerful
than logic and logic than the dream.

Yet dreams are dreams, O Mother!
There is no heart where it is not
There is no mind where it is not.
Even Leonardo Da Vinci’s brush
paused momentarily on the Mona Lisa lips,
to let her dream
- to let her dream.

O’ Mother! O’ Mother!
Let us dream
together you and I
Heaven and Earth
are yet to be one.

Are yet to be one.

Copyright 2007 Bhuwan Thapaliya