These are the words of a silent dreamer <br />whose drought of dying dreams <br />faded their tails to a crowd of crying bees <br />painting grey stones over the hills <br />and thoughts with sluggish streams <br />by the woods, with fallen leaves <br />between the grains of desert sands not at ease, <br />as if the love of long ago <br />whose lover of beauty has long gone <br />to the ashes as seeds sown <br />over the soils of their own, <br />whose belly cried to its own <br />rhythm of emptiness alone, <br />whose love of the lover <br />back from its ashes came to uncover <br />the patterns of a silent dreamer <br />whose joy and hope were born anew <br />to the rains of loving arms by the moon <br />to the worth of a silent dreamer <br />whose birth of an island dream <br />has finally met his silent winger <br />and said, “i am the silent dreamer, <br />i am the wordsmith to a singer, <br />i am the curve to a silent dream”.<br /><br />Onalethuso Petruss Ntema<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/silent-dreamer-2/
